It Just Won't Quit
by misprint
Summary: And I never really sleep anymore. Slash.
1. prologue

Before you read this, you must download "It Just Won't Quit", by Meatloaf. Don't play it. Wait till the end of the story, then listen to it all the way through.

This is not an option. This is imperative.

**It Just Won't Quit**

**Chapter One**

Girls liked Mush.

And who wouldn't? He wasn't the smartest of the pickings, nor the quickest by far. But the boy had charm. When that grin lit up his strong, well defined face, he could make the knees of any girl from Queens to Manhattan shake. His big, sad brown eyes brought out the maternal instincts that they were dying to lavish upon some lucky boy, and his quick laugh and sympathy often won the hearts of many. So why was Mush sitting alone on the roof top, no girl by his side?

His handsome face took on a burnished, golden glow as he struck a match, watching it crackle to life. As soon as the flame softened under the late night, mild wind, he pressed it against the wick of the candle, half burned, crooked, and foul in scent, but warm. Warmth that he now had. The smell of fish and oil heated into the air, and he wrinkled his nose slightly, but couldn't help smiling.

The rooftop harboured the light gently, like a secret. And it was. He paced over to the chimney and began counting down bricks from the top, brows furrowed, tongue poking out slightly from between his lips. He wished Blink was up there, he was good with numbers. But Blink was downstairs, fast asleep, blissful, as he had not been in weeks.

He hit the thirteenth brick and he smiled, slightly. Feeling through the semi darkness, he dug around it with his fingers and managed to wiggle it loose, and pull it half way out. Lying, wedged between it and the brick on top, was a smudged, greying piece of newspaper, long scrawling lines scratch over the neat print.

Mush slid it out and shoved the brick back into place, hoping the scraping wasn't waking any one up downstairs. He paused a moment, listening, but all he could hear was the far away clop of horses hooves, and the sobs of a woman in the next building.

Cautious, he crept back towards the candle and dropped, cross legged, beside it, making the flame wave gently. An orange spark leapt from the wick and dropped onto the roof, then promptly died out. Mush shouldn't have been burning the candle at all, Kloppman didn't allow fire in the lodging house. He had said as much when he caught Racetrack with a half smoked cigar in his mouth.

"What've I told you?" He had yelled, taking the cigar from his mouth and giving him a sharp smack over the head.

"Ow!" Racetrack had yelled, rubbing the back of his head ruefully.

"No fire! No cigarettes! No candles! You boys want to burn this place to the ground? You wanna go find another lodging house?"

"It was just a cigar…"

"You lissen to me! The next one a' you I see with a lit match'll be thrown outta here before you can say snap! Understood?" He had yelled in that wrinkly old voice, with the accent that sounded as though his jaw was thrust forwards a few inches more than it should have been.

Resentful of the old man's regulations, they had taken to frequenting the front steps with their cigarettes. Mush sometimes joined them, and he was always careful to put it out before he went back inside. The candle in front of him made him feel rather guilty.

_I ain't exactly breaking the rules,_ he told himself, contrite. _I'm not burning anything **in** the lodging house._ Sighing, he averted his sight from the flame and began unfolding the paper.

It wasn't exactly an old piece of paper, but it's time wedged in between the chimney bricks had worn it down, smudging the ink and blackening the edges with soot and ash. The type had faded, and was pale enough to write over if you had a strong, dark ink. Mush let his eyes linger on the weakened type, catching a word or two here and there. _Street. Brutal. Johnny. Orphan._

Quietly, taking a furtive glance around the roof top, he pulled the cork from the bottle of ink he had swiped from the front desk, cursing as the ink splashed onto his fingers. He wiped his hand on a shirt that Itey had left up there to dry over night, and set the bottle down on the cement. Then, he grabbed his battered pen, fit it comfortably between his fingers, and dipped it into the ink.

The dark, badly printed lines were hard to read, smudged with tears, rain, and soot. He brought it to his face and inhaled deeply. The dark scent of smoke swirled over his senses. The ink smelled stale and thick. It made him hungry, as though he wanted to take the night in his arms and hold it, like a lover.

If anyone else had seen the dirty, ragged piece of paper lying on the sidewalk, maybe burned by cigarette butts, maybe plastered to the cobblestone with rain, they would have written it off as a piece of trash. Even if they had stopped and deciphered the lines. But if they were able to read _between_ the lines, they would see how many nights he had taken to scrawl down the words. How he had tirelessly collected the lines, storing them away in his mind, and painstakingly printed them out hours later. How gritty his eyes would get into the small hours of the morning. How low the candle burned and how much it smelled of fish oil. How warm his back would feel as he leaned against the chimney, heaven engulfing him in an embrace, the poem inches away from its subject. How satisfied he'd be when he finally gave it away, finally gave it to the one who he loved the most.

He laid the pen down and bit his lip. He'd never been a writer, no less a poet, had never even begun the day journal that one of the boys had stolen from Kloppman, then had given it to him. He didn't know if what he had down was any good, any worth the time of the one he wanted to give it to.

Blink wasn't _his_. You couldn't hold a boy in your arms and tell him you loved him like that. He'd get scared. _Mush _would get scared. But…he sighed and blew out the candle, too tired to read it over. But it didn't matter. He knew it off by heart.

He went over it, tracing out the words in his mind, as the stars hung above him, staring down at the sleeping city.

_And I never really sleep anymore_

_And I always get those dangerous dreams_

_And I never get a minute of peace_

_And I gotta wonder what it means_

_Maybe it's nothing and I'm under the weather_

_Maybe it's just one of those bugs going round_

_Maybe I'm under a spell and it's magic_

_Maybe there's a witch doctor with an office in town_

_And there used to be such an easy way of living_

_And there used to be every hope in the world_

_And I used to get everything that I went after_

_But there never used to be this girl_

_Maybe I'm crazy and I'm losing my senses_

_Maybe I'm possessed by a spirit or such_

_Maybe I'm desperate, and I got no defences_

_Can you get me a prescription for that one perfect touch?_

_Is this a blessing?_

_Or is it a curse?_

_Can it get any better?_

_Does it get any worse?_

_Can it go on forever?_

_Is it over tonight?_

_Does it come with the darkness?_

_Does it bring out the light?_

_Is it richer than diamonds? Or just a little cheaper than spit?_

_I don't know what it is_

_I don't know what it is but it just won't quit_

_There was a time when nothing ever really mattered_

_There was a time when there was nothing I didn't know_

_There was a time when I knew just what I was living for_

_There was a time and the time was so long ago_

_And I never really sleep any more._


	2. one

****

One

August 14th, 1898

"An' 'e takes a swing at me, an' I dodges it an' comes right back up an' give 'im double. Pow! Pow! Jus' like that an' 'e's on his back. Now, I know not ta hit a guy when 'e's down, right? So I turns an' start leavin'. But before I knows it, he's up on his feet an' tryin' to better me. So I jus' gives 'im the ol' right hook, see? Pow! An' 'e's down again like a sack a' potatoes." Mush watched his best friend in awe, as he bounced along beside him on the balls of his feet, re-enacting out the mornings events. "'E gets up again, an' tries to land one on me. But I'se too fast for 'im, an' befoah he knows it, _pow_!" Blink made an extremely violent gesture in mid air. "'E's down on 'is back again, cryin' like a _goil_. Aw, I wish you coulda been there to seen it, buddy."

"Wow." Mush said, in veneration, eyes trained on his friend. "I t'ought you said 'e was a big guy!"

"He was!" Blink confirmed obstinately, thrusting his chin out. "Musta been 'bout…uh…" He rolled his one visible eye up in thought. "_Three_ hunnerd pounds."

"You was sayin' two hunnerd a minute ago."

"I meant two hunnerd pounds muscle." Blink explained, throwing a few more punches into mid air, with the correct sound effects to go along with his "opponents" reaction. "'E was bigger than Weasel!"

"Ain't no one bigger than Weasel."

"Is so."

"Is not!"

"Well, there is now." Blink amended. "An' I licked 'em!"

"Why was 'e after you in the foist place?" Mush asked in interest. 

"Wha?" Blinks eye darkened for a moment. "Oh. That. 'E was a friend a' Abbey's. Musta been tryin' to make 'er feel better by makin' a nice mess a' my face." He immediately resumed fighting his invisible opponent, ducking and dodging imaginary swings.

Mush stared at him. Abbey. Again. He should have suspected. Whenever Blink got in trouble, the source was usually one of his "dames". 

"You get hoit?" He asked softly, his eyes lingering on the dark bruise beginning to form on his friends temple. 

"What?" Blink hesitated again, and his eye grew even darker. "Well…a li'l." He admitted warily. "Not much though. It'd take a lot more than that bum to hoit me. I got a bruise on my ribs. Bastard kicked me when I was down."

He resumed his fight again, as the two of them strolled along the cobblestone, which was near hot enough to burn the soles off of their feet. Mush paused, and glanced over at his friend again, before asking the question in such a soft voice, it was nearly a whisper.

"Was she woith it?"

Blink paused again in his effortless battle, and squinted slightly. A bead of sweat was trickling down his temple.

"Who?"

"Abbey."

"Oh. Oh _yeah_. Them British, lemme tell you." He grinned roguishly. Mush gave a weak grin too. "I mean…all dark eyed an' pale an' slender. Y'know? Like butterflies." Mush didn't know. He had no clue. Blink, in his rapid quest for "the perfect girl" kept neglecting to remember the fact that Mush wasn't half as lucky in his own escapades. In fact, he wasn't lucky at all.

Mush Meyers never, once in life, had a girl. 

Blink, on the other hand, managed to go through about two a week. It didn't bother Mush that he was manipulating all those girls with his charm and quick tactics, didn't even bother him that he exaggerated all his conquests to make every girl seem like a queen, every night a paradise. What bothered him was the fact that every girl he got his hands on and left the next morning seemed to have an older brother or cousin or friend or fellow who would dearly love to take out his other eye for him. _Dearly_. And the worse thing about it was Blink never took it seriously. 

"Don't matter, anyhow." Blink was saying. "Got me this new one. Name's Adriana. Adriana Fuentes. Puerto Rican. Nice, huh? Huh?" He elbowed his friend a few times in the ribs, and Mush chuckled weakly. Adriana Fuentes. She probably didn't know that only two nights ago, Blink was up in _Abbey's_ tenement, trying to keep the level of noise they were making down to a minimum, so her father wouldn't throw him out… 

Mush would always try and bring up this new idea of _not_ taking advantage of every single girl he ran into. Maybe _slowing_ down on women. Maybe…dunno. Trying something else?

__

What am I doin',? Mush thought unhappily as his friend let out a war cry and dodged a punch. _Tryin' to turn 'im onto the fact that I like him like no friend should? What the _hell_ am I doin'?_

"Say." Blink finished off his opponent and dropped a sweaty arm around Mush's shoulders. "We still goin' to Sweet Sals?"

Mush smiled, and tried to convince himself the gesture meant nothing more than what it was supposed to. Friendship. _And there ain't no way I'm gonna go trynna spoil that. _He thought firmly.

"Shooah thing." He shrugged. 

__

But it's shooah nice to dream.

The first of their own they ran into was Racetrack, standing outside the diner, squinting up at the menu, and nervously jangling his coins in his palm. He had long since abandoned his waist coat and had unbuttoned his own blouse, to no avail. Dark, grey sweat stains still made the fabric stick to his skin. The minute he saw them, he let forth a flood of over-amiable compliments, clearly showing he was short of cash.

"Hey! Fellas!" He greeted loudly, letting a hand fly out and thwack Mush on the upper arm enthusiastically. "Mush! How ya doin', big guy? Sold all yer papes? A' course you have, a' course you have. An' Blink!" He draped an arm around the boys shoulders. "Blink, m'boy, how you been? Say." He turned and held Blink at arms length. "Hoid about that fight with that Spanish Thug from Harlem. Hoid 'e was the toughest guy this side a' the city. But you look good!" he babbled, ignoring the darkened bruise on Blinks temple. "Made mince meat outta him, didn'tcha? Cleaned his clock, didn'tcha? Atta boy…" he chuckled and began throwing rapid punches at his friends upper arm. Mush and Blink exchanged a knowing look, then simultaneously walked into the diner, Racetrack darting around them like a lost puppy.

The diner had a few ceiling fans going as they walked in, but not enough to expel the wet, summer heat that settled there like a fog. The tables underneath the fans had been quickly snapped up by those with superior influence, and they sat there now, like monarchs on their shabby, sagging chairs. Blink, always cool, paused just long enough to give them withering looks, and made a beeline for a booth in the corner of the diner. He would sit no where else.

"Man." Racetrack was babbling as they slid onto the shabby cushions, the stale, warm scent of cigarettes embedded in the fabrics. "It's too hot for the _dogs_ today. Heat's got everyone inside. I had a hard time sellin' today. Did you have a hard time sellin' today? I had a hard time sellin' today…"

"T'anks." Blink muttered to a young waitress who handed them their menus, her hair tied back by a stained grey kerchief. He eyed her appraisingly as she turned and scurried away. Racetrack glanced down his menu, and his smile faltered a little.

"Prices 'ave gone up." He said meaningfully, licking his lips. "Shooah have…jeez…yeh…" He glanced up at the two boys, only to find them both staring at him knowingly, and quickly looked back down at his menu. "Yup…look at dis…I mean, how they 'spect a woikin' class kid like meself to pay for grub like this…" Mush and Blink exchanged another look. Blink raised his eyebrows and smirked.

"You want we should buy?" Mush asked gently. 

"Wha?" Racetrack said quickly, eyes widening. As if he wasn't thinking of it at all, Mush thought sceptically. "Aw, _no._ No fellas, a' course not."

"Alright then." Mush said, leaning back and raising his eyebrows. "We won't."

"Aw, _please_ fellas, _please_." Racetrack quickly changed tactics, leaning forwards, eyes wide and hungry. "I ain't had nuttin' t'eat _all day_. An' I need most a' the dough I make today for rent…Month overdue. Kloppman won't hear it no more. An' I'm _so hungry…_"

Blink rolled his one eye upwards. "Can it, Race. I'll pay." 

"Aw." Racetrack grinned in relief, his face sagging into its comfortable, normal lines. "Aw…_t'ank_ you Blink. Blink, buddy, you're a real pal. Y'know, I _always_ said…"

"You gennelmen ready to order?" A slight voice cut in. Mush looked up. The same waitress was standing there, large doe eyes flicking from each face.

"Uh, yeh." Blink glanced down at the menu and quickly gave his order. Mush and Race quickly followed suit. 

Mush tried not to stare too obviously at the way Blink's eye was roaming over her face and body. She was undeniably pretty, like a lost kitten, or an innocent child. The naïve kind, he decided, as she leaned over and began collecting their menus. But, as always, Mush felt nothing.

"Coming up soon." She gave them a small, reassuring smile, then turned and scurried away. Blink's gaze followed her, and he gave an insolent grin. 

"Now _she's_ a looker." He said, mostly to himself. Racetrack nodded. 

"I'm with ya there."

"Yeah." Mush said automatically. He had been training himself to act the way Blink did, and stare at girls the way Blink did, and talk about girls the way Blink did…he didn't know if it was doing him any good. He still felt the same. And why would he feel different, after eight years?

Blink rooted around in his pockets, and after a few moments, dumped a handful of change on the table. The silver clinks and chimes made both his friends turn and gape. He settled back with the smug air of self confidence decorating his grin. 

"Jimminy!" Racetrack exclaimed, his face full of disbelief. "That's gotta be at least six dollars! Wheah'd you get that?" 

"Ah, I jus' _appropriates _the papes outta the back a' the distribution center." Blink smirked nonchalantly. 

"_Appropriated_?" Mush asked, feeling the word stumble off his tongue. Blink nodded and grinned. "Whazat mean?" 

"Ah, jus' means that there weren't no Weasel or Delancey idiots around to see me take a li'l more than I pays for." He said casually, pretending to study his fingernails in a pretentious air. 

"Which was nuttin'." Racetrack snorted. Blink laughed too. 

"Hey. All the more for me." 

Mush felt himself grinning. Blink _would_ find something like this to keep him afloat. It was just the kind of boy he was. 

Boy.

Mush felt his eyes flick sideways in his head as he studied his friends handsome profile, outlined by the summer sun that beamed through the dirty glass. Although the eye patch marred his handsome face, his clothes didn't get that much of a wash, and his hair could get as greasy as a bums, he still managed to look fine no matter what he was doing. The edges of his face glowed now, lit by the outside, and whenever he grinned or tossed his hair back, little beams of light danced around him. The eye patch didn't make him look so much as a street kid, but more of a martyr. It gave him something imperfect, to balance the perfection, to balance everything that Mush loved about him. He grinned at something Racetrack was saying, and seemed to give off his own illumination, regardless of the suns light. 

Almost like an angel, Mush thought slowly, dumbfounded, as he always was whenever he caught these special moments. 

The clink of plates hitting the table brought him back to reality. He blinked, then glanced down, his spirit lifted when he saw the sandwich sitting on the china. He realised, suddenly, how ravenous he was. The heat of the day and the energy involved in selling must have worn him down.

"Like I says…" Blink was saying, leaning forwards slightly, speaking through a muffled mouthful of beans. "This street rat Jimmy or somin'? When they finally finds 'is body, half his face was missin', man. Whoever did it was good. Quick and efficient, y'know?"

"Y'think it's that gang that's sprung up in Williamsburg?" Mush asked, rewarded with an appraising glance from his friend.

"That's wheah my money is." He replied, shovelling another forkful of beans into his mouth. "Devlin. That's their name, ain't it?"

"Devlin?" Racetrack asked, his eyes screwing up into tight squints. He chewed thoughtfully on his frankfurter.

"Yeah? Familiar wid the name?" Blink asked, swallowing.

"Shooah as hell I am." He replied casually. "I owe 'em ten bucks."

Mush nearly spewed his water out over the table, and had to ferociously fight down laughter. Blink was staring at him in astonishment.

"Ten bucks? Race! How the hell didja…"

"Poker." Racetrack replied simply. His face darkened for a moment. "'E cheated. Somehow. I know 'e did. Soon as I find out how…" Mush and Blink didn't even chance a glance at each other. They knew they'd never be able to hold back their laughter. 

"Well, I suggest you pays 'im back pronto an' get it over with." Blink advised. "Don't want nuttin' to do with these fellows."

"Yeah, yeah." Racetrack waved it off like it was nothing. Blink and Mush exchanged another look, Mush still fighting back smiles.

The two of them quickly went back to their lunch.

Mush glanced over at Blink's hand, which was resting casually on the table top. Wouldn't it be nice if they were holding hands under the table? Like they had seen those couples do, down Pearl Avenue. Bound in so many ways. He studied the stocky shape of his friends fingers. He could see the tendons, stretching from the fingernails down to the arm…could see the bruises from all the fights and beatings he gave…could see where the skin wrinkled and folded around the knuckles whenever he moved…

"Mush? Hey. You still there, buddy?" Racetrack asked, raising an eyebrow, frankfurter half way to his mouth. Embarrassed to be caught, Mush straightened hastily.

"Jus' thinking." He replied quickly. Racetrack nodded, and turned back to Blink. 

"An' this dame…" he continued with gusto, as though he had never interrupted himself. "Pfft. Forget yer Spanish Rose up in Harlem. This one…aw man."

"That good?" Blink asked, eyebrows raising.

"_That_ good. An' a lot better if y'ask me. She's got these pretty eyes, an' this long dark hair, an'…"

Mush stopped listening.

It seemed as though the city truly came alive when the first dark strands of evening began reaching over the squat factories of Manhattan. The city seemed to cool, almost, the hot cobblestone moderating underfoot, and the sweat soaked faces of the labourers smiling slightly as they cleaned up after their jobs. The energy-sucking heat disappeared, leaving in its wake, a frenzy of rowdy, middle class workers that were ready to do in with their jobs for the day, and go drink off the blues that they so easily obtained. Consequentially, the older newsies, almost as a rule, rarely frequented the lodging house during the evenings. Who wanted to hang around and abide to Kloppman's capricious rules, when there were drinks to be consumed, shows to be seen, and women to be had? Only the younger newsies who still had their baby fat and couldn't get into bars and Vaudeville shows stayed back at the house, playing cards up in the bunkrooms, or stealing a smoke or two on the fire escape. 

Blink could easily remember the first week of evenings he had spent out on the town, and he told Mush about them countless times, his conquests growing more and more portentous each retelling. Mush listened with awed interest, only growing inward and short when Blink began describing the women he had seen.

"God, it was like heaven…but on earth…" He would say incoherently, moving his hands in vague, flowing circles as though that would prove some kind of point. Mush was just happy to watch his hands, and imagine them against his face and chest, tracing those nebulous, liquid circles into his skin, etching them into his flesh…he always shook those thoughts off fairly quickly. It would never do for Blink to find out that Mush thought about him that way.

Racetrack, having nowhere to go but back to the home, decided to trail after the two boys, hands in his pockets, making jovial, biting remarks that made them both laugh and strike at him in turn. Mush was glad, however. Having Racetrack along distracted him from focusing his attention entirely on Blink…something he had been doing too much, as of late. However, the three boys were at a loss for something to do. Racetrack was quite keen on going down to Irving Hall to see Medda in her new show, but Blink repudiated this by saying that he had already seen it, and it "wasn't worth dirt." He ended it, quite characteristically, by saying that the girls didn't show enough skin to keep him interested for too long. Mush pretended to laugh.

Blink, all of a sudden, got a spark in his one visible eye, and he cocked his head in the direction of Delancey Street. Mush knew that gleam. It only appeared in his friends gaze when he was feeling rebellious.

"Got an idea." He said. Racetrack, in the act of digging an old, chewed on cigar out of his pocket, paused in mid action, his hand halfway to his mouth, his eyebrows raised an inquisitive manner. "I hears that Knipes on Delancey is importing some mighty fine whisky in from Scotland on…" he made a mock gesture of flipping pages, as though he was checking some sort of invisible calendar. "August 18th. You gennelmen interested in appropriating a few bottles from his stock?"

Mush shrugged. The night was young, and there was really nothing else to do. Racetrack was looking fairly eager, as he put the cigar back in his pocket.

"Sounds like an_ admirable venture._" He said, faking a high class British accent. "And Knipes…there's a damn good liquor shop if I ever saw one."

"Yeah," Blink sniggered, shoving his hands in his pockets as the three of them turned and made for Delancey street, which was lit up nicely in the impending darkness. "And that's alls you've ever done, buddy. _Seen_ one. Maybe you ain't old enough to be drinking this stuff yet." 

"Oh yeah?" Racetrack argued, socking one of Blink's arms a little harder than usual. "I can hold my alcohol along with the best of 'um. It's _you_ that interests me. Whaddaya reckon, Mush? How many swigs before he loses it? Three? Four?"

"Twenny billion." Blink said snottily over his shoulder. Racetrack chuckled to himself.

"I'll take you up on that. Five bucks to the winner?"

"Race, you don't have five bucks." Mush reminded him. "And you _owe_ the Devlin gang ten." 

"Aw, you don't know nuttin'." Racetrack replied automatically, rolling his eyes. It was his standard reply to anyone that tried to stop him from having what he called "a good time." Mush exchanged a look with Blink, and then shrugged.

The walk down Delancey street wasn't short, but it was nevertheless interesting. It was as though the cool night breathed life into the buildings that lined the avenue, making their lights switch on as yellow eyes in the darkness of the night, making people spill from their front steps into the streets, and in turn, into the pubs. There was always a hint of thick ragtime music in the air, as every other block had a pub or two situated in between the tenements, almost invisible to the eye until the evening rolled around. There was always a congregation of men at the door with their mugs, chatting in what was generally a sober manner, but would soon be drunken and incoherent in less than a few hours. The three boys occasionally would stop and duck in the door, to see if the bartender would be up to serving those obviously under age, but for every effort, they always got a stern shake of the head, and a thumb jerked rudely in the direction of the streets. _Back where you came from, boys._

Mush enjoyed the ragtime music and the hubbub of the bars, but not as much as he did the excitement of the streets. There were always people. Young couples out on dates with their hands clasped between them, men on their way to the pubs in thick, rowdy clumps, girls out to snag boys, boys out to snag girls, and always the lone woman or two, with their high-cut skirts and low-cut necklines, staring at the men from underneath their death blue eyelids. These were the women who were always out every night, regardless of whether it was Summer or Winter. They were the woman that everybody took advantage of, but no one would throw a penny at in the streets. These were the women who were spat on by the good-natured mothers and sisters of the city, only to return to their homes, which were hardly homes at all. Rundown houses, with girls spilling out from everywhere, every doorway, ever nook and cranny. Girls sitting in windows, facing outwards, skinny, made-up legs dangling down over the sill. Girls congregated in clumps on the balconies, cat calling and exchanging insults with the heavy thugs that occasionally wandered down to that part of town for when they were feeling lonely.

Mush always thought that was kind of sad. Blink loved it.

Knipes was farther on down Delancey street, fixed almost on the docks of Manhattan that dove off into the dirty waters of the East River. Supposedly "higher class", there were no echoes of ragtime or gaudy women sauntering past it's doors, only a few well-to-do looking middle class workers, who were searching for the cheapest wine they could find for weddings or birthdays. It was always a wonder how a place like that could stay in business on Delancey Street. But the boys didn't mind. Knipes was eighty three, and nearly both deaf and blind. Too easy to sneak goods from.

The boys quieted as they saw the outlines of the Williamsburg Bridge appear in the darkness. They were getting close. Racetrack had, after a few moments of savouring and picking at his cigar, shoved it between his lips and lit it, looking like the most satisfied man in the world as he inhaled with relish, even though his shoes were broken open at the toes and there were sweat stains up and down his blouse. Mush and Blink settled for inhaling the rank smoke that drifted from the end.

"You think we'll get caught?" Mush asked, feeling the familiar flutterings of anxiety and excitement in the pit of his stomach, as though something was struggling to free itself. Blink narrowed his one eye as he studied the blurry shape of the store in the distance.

"Not if we're careful enough." he replied easily. "Can't afford to be clumsy in situations like this." He glanced over at Racetrack. "That means you stays behind, Race." He added with a smirk. Racetrack hit him in the arm, with a hard thump that sounded like it would bruise.

"Pansy." He replied, his voice thick from behind the cigar wedged between his lips. Mush laughed, watching Blink's smirk widen. Of all the boys that Racetrack knew, Blink was the least likely to be a _pansy_, considering the thirst for women that wouldn't abate, no matter how many he had. And that was what was bothering Mush.

Blink let out a long _whoosh_ of air as he saw the dark shadows of crates piled up in the alleyway. "There we are." He said in satisfaction, his voice cloaked in a whisper. The three of them instinctively softened their footsteps, and Racetrack put out his cigar against the side of a building, the glow would give them away.

"If he sees us, act natural." Mush warned the two of them. Racetrack rolled his eyes.

"Get a load a' this guy. _If he sees us._ That Knipes is as blind as he is deaf."

"Will you shut yer hole?" Blink snapped, sending a scowl over to his companion, who rolled his eyes and, making sure the cigar had cooled considerably, slid it back into his pocket almost noiselessly. The three of them continued the walk in silence, the only communication between them being quick, stolen glances, and curt nods. Mush felt the feeling in his stomach grow wilder. He had never been as savage as the other boys when it came to breaking the law, and every time he and Blink went on one of their escapades, he found himself grinning like a fool, and barely being able to hold in waves of giggles from behind his lips. 

They drew closer and closer to the store, until at last, only the bare expanse of cobblestone alleyway separated them from the mountains of crates. When they angled their heads right, they could capture the glint of the dim light on the dark glass that glittered between the rotten boards. 

"Jeeminy." Racetrack said under his breath. "That there is a lotta alcohol."

"Shh!" Blink suddenly snapped, slapping a hand over Racetrack's mouth. They heard why in a second. A shuffling drawl of footsteps were sounding from inside the store, and all of a sudden, the side door opened, and the bent old figure of Horatio Knipes came hobbling out, the straggly, greasy hair on his forehead barely visible in the moonlight. The three boys knew that face well. It had been the one that yelled at them and threatened them with arrest and torture whenever they had tried to steal any of his stock. 

The three of them immediately turned their backs, and began a pointless conversation in low, unintelligible murmurs, as though they were just three street urchins passing the time between them. Racetrack even fumbled out his pocket watch and began clicking the cover open and closed, as though he had nothing better to do. They could feel the very air shimmer with anxiety when they heard the ancient creak of his bones as he raised his head to get a good look at them. But Racetrack had been correct, the dim light and the silhouettes showed him nothing. 

"Who's there?" He rasped, in a voice that sounded as though it hadn't been used for a few hundred years or so. Blink and Racetrack shared anxious looks, and before they replied, Mush turned around. His face was less familiar than the two troublemakers beside them.

"Who wants to know?" He replied in a low voice, trying to sound as casual and as tough as Blink did whenever he was dealing with Knipes. His eyes having adjusted to the darkness in the alley, he could now make out the sagging curves of the old mans face, and the glimmer of the old, wet eyes. He watched as the thin lips contorted into a trembling frown.

"You run along, now." He wheezed, lifting one of the crates up in his old frail arms. The sound of a thousand bones cracking rang out across the alley, making Mush ball his hands into tight fists in his pockets. "Don't be 'causin' no trouble, hear? I'll call the p'lice on ya."

Mush snorted, and turned back to face the other way. There was a slight pause that made the boy's stomachs twist as he stared at them, as though trying to discern any sort of familiar shape. After what felt like an eternity, he slowly groaned and grunted his way to the door, and pushed it open with his back, before sliding back into the dusty, greasy back hallway of his store.

"Aaand…" Blink whispered, as they heard the door swing shut. "_Go._"

The three boys snapped around and jogged over the crates as lightly as they could, trying to make as little noise as possible. As much as they made fun of Knipes for his dulled senses, none of them wanted to run the risk of being caught. The old man had, if nothing else, a death grip, as though his old bones would lock into place and hold you there until hell froze over. 

Racetrack lifted one of the crates with a wheezy "oof" and cradled it against his stomach, while Mush and Blink grabbed two others. Then, slowly, the three of them began hobbling away, their escape made a little less smooth by the fact that they were all laden with heavy burdens that sloshed and shifted and couldn't be dropped. 

"In here." Blink grunted, motioning to the next alleyway with his head. "We ain't goin' nowhere with these, at least not fast-like. Let's get outta sight."

If Knipes came out and noticed that three of his crates were missing, and that the three boys on the corner had mysteriously disappeared, they didn't hear anything about it. Or, at least, he didn't make so much of a racket that they could hear it on the next block. After a few moments of sitting, listening, and realizing that they weren't hearing the tell-tale rapid klip klop of the police wagons, that he had figured the lost alochol was as good as gone.

"Either that, or he can't count worth dirt." Racetrack ammended, fixing his hands around the crate again. "Let's get this back to the lodging house. If we can't sneak it past Kloppman, at least we'll be close to home when we finish it all."

"Yeah, as if he'd let us in when we're drop dead drunk." Mush retorted, lifting his burden with a groan. Blink said nothing, but looked proud as he hoisted his own crate up and onto his shoulder, as though it was a stack of papers. Yet, underneath the casualness of his gesture, he stumbled sideways slightly as they began the long walk back to the lodging house.

Maybe it was just the fact that they were dragging around three heavy crates, but Delancey street didn't seem quite so appealing to Mush on the way back as it was on the way there. Especially it's size. The end of the street was thrown off far into the distance, a never ending stretch of pubs and tenements and people, that all gave them knowing, suspicious looks.

"Maybe we should ask one a' them to help." Racetrack wheezed, trying to switch the crate around to get a better handle on it. "Y'know…pay some punk kid a nickel to carry these…"

"Just pray that no one calls the cops on us." Blink said darkly, his voice sounding a little breathless underneath it's cynicism. "Maybe we should cut through a few back alleys."

"And prolong this torture? I don't _think_ so." Racetrack replied. Blink rolled his eyes.

"Tired already? It's only been three blocks."

"_Only_, he says." Racetrack muttered to no one in particular. Mush was trying not to listen, all too amused by the banter going on between his friends, knowing that if he started laughing, he'd drop the crate, curl over it, and wouldn't be able to pick it up again. Fortunately, Blink wasn't in the mood to continue to make derisive comments, and Racetrack probably wouldn't have put up with them anyways. Somehow, despite the few cuts through back alleys and the one incident where Racetrack gave them faulty directions, they managed to haul the crates to about a block away from the lodging house, where they dumped them down on a fairly deserted corner, and flopped into different seating positions, Mush with his back up against the boxes, Blink on top of one of them, and Racetrack flat out on his back on the cobblestone.

"It's all those cigars you smoke." Blink finally said, once he had indiscreetly caught his breath, staring down at the huffing and puffing Racetrack on the ground. 

"Say what you want. If you could afford 'um, you'd be smokin' 'um too." He replied. Mush chuckled breathlessly.

"Afford them? Race, you _steal_ them." 

"Damn straight, I do." He retorted. "And damn _well_, might I add. Swiped this off a' that _right hand man_ I was telling you about." He dug the half smoked half chewn cigar out of one of his endless pockets, and held it up in the moonlight, examining it. "Didn't notice a thing. Almost thought he was numb not to feel it."

"You swiped that cigar off a member of the Devlin gang?" Blink said incredulously. Racetrack pushed himself up into a sitting position as he crammed the cigar into his waistcoat pocket.

"Had to get 'um back for cheating." He replied. Blink and Mush exchanged another look, sending a thrill through Mush's worn out body. Blink grinned, then looked down at Racetrack.

"Hate to throw a wrench in yer logic, Race, but you can't cheat a cheater."

"Oh _yeah_?" Racetrack swivelled around, looking fairly ridiculous with his back covered in grime and his cap knocked back on his head, exposing the sheen of sweat on his forehead. "And just _what_ are you insinating?"

"Insinuating, Race?" Mush supplied. 

"You don't know nuffin'."

"I'll tell you what _I_ knows." Blink cut in, moving into a squatting position beside one of the crates, and studying the top with his one, shining eye. "I knows that we carried this all the way down Delancey street, and not just so we could sit around and _talk_ about 'um." 

"An' that's _all_ you knows." Racetrack retorted, but he too had scrambled to his knees and was beginning to examine the top of the crate with interest. Mush followed suit, realizing that he was quite thirsty after the commute. 

Blink began, by trying to pry the boards loose with his fingers, shoving them in between the gaps and trying to get a good grasp on the planks. But it soon became obvious that his approach wasn't working when Racetrack got his finger stuck and howled for a good straight five minutes before they were able to pry him loose. He spent the next couple of minutes watching them work at the tops, with the excuse that he needed a moments recovery for his poor, swollen finger. Finally, Mush hit upon the solution of scouring the gutters and alleyways for something, and managed to produce a long, thin piece of scrap metal that Blink used to slowly, but surely, pry the boards apart with.

Eventually, they were left with three boxes that had twisted nails and splintered planks of wood surrounding the openings. But, nevertheless, shining from underneath the wreckage were rows upon rows of whisky bottles.

"A job well done, my boys." Racetrack said in a strained voice, as he reached in and pulled out the first bottle by the neck. "A job well done indeed."

"All thanks to you, Race." Mush rolled his eyes as he followed suit. After a quick, rather inaccurate count by blink, they guessed that there were about twenty to thirty bottles in each crate. 

"This'll last us all through winter!" Racetrack crowed, as he dug out his pocket knife and shoved it into the cork. Mush grinned as he watched him struggle to pull it out. In the summer heat, winter seemed a million years away. He imagined the look on Kloppman's face if he knew that they were planning to sneak in enough alcohol to drunken the rowdiest sailor. He'd probably threaten to throw them out on their ears. 

Racetrack succeeded in pulling out his own cork, and then passed the knife to Blink who, in turn, passed it to Mush. The three of them sagged back against the crates, each smiling their own secret smiles. Then, with a "cheers" from Blink, they raised their drinks, tilted their heads back, and pressed the cool lips of the bottles up against their mouths.

"Beats?"

The dark, curly haired boy jolted from his dream, eyes snapping open, the frosty, night air sucked into his lungs so fast, the icy temperature burned as it whistled into his throat. He blinked groggily, and saw a dark figure advancing towards him, the shoulders hunched and the thin arms strong and muscular…

Beats moaned, feeling his muscles seize in terror, as he pushed himself backwards, stumbling, his limbs tangling, cold cobblestone biting against the skin. The figure advanced on him, almost threateningly, like a dark ghost, something heavy and long in it's hand…It opened it's mouth and let out a word;

"Beats," it said, in a choked voice. "Calm down. S'just me."

"Johnny?" Beats squinted slightly, then let out a breath of relief. "Christ! Don't scare me like that."

"Sorry." Johnny replied in his scratchy, gravel voice as he lowered himself into a sitting position on the cobblestone. Beats paused, shivering, as the cold night air fought through his sleepy warmth he had built up while dreaming. He began to feel the wintry touch of the New York City air on his skin. 

The corner of Grand and Bowery had become his home. Him and Johnny. They didn't need much just to stay together and keep each other warm. And protect each other. 

Protection was always an issue for Beats.

Johnny pulled something from behind his back, shaking the curls from his eyes. It was a dark green bottle, barely discernible in the dark, dimly lit night, but there all the same. Beats felt his interest spark, and shifted forwards.

"Say. Whazat?"

"Whisky." Johnny replied. "Knipes was having his _imported_ today. Figured one bottle didn' t matter all that much to 'im." He said the words not with disgust or sarcasm, but in a raspy monotone. The way he said everything. He raised the bottle to his mouth and bit down on the cork, trying to yank it out. The boys were only thirteen, but no one cared enough to stop them.

They were just street rats. 

"Lemme have some." Beats urged, pushing himself forwards into a squatting position. The close proximity between the both of them already made the cold a little less unbearable. Johnny squeezed his eyes shut as he yanked at the bottle, and finally was able to pry the cork out, spilling a dark, brown liquid all over his already tawny hands and wrists. He cursed under his breath, and quickly lapped away the spill. Before Beats could take the bottle away, he raised it to his lips, and tentatively took a sip or two. After a moment, he pulled it away and let out a worn breath. 

"Careful." He hissed, his voice a little more scuffed than usual. "It boins goin' down."

"Yeah?"

"Uh huh." Johnny wiped his lips with the back of his hand and settled back onto his rear, folding his legs tight up against his body. The rags weren't enough to protect him from the wintry cold. 

Beats contemplated the bottle in his hands for a moment, before pressing it to his lips and throwing his head back. He felt the liquid drain into his throat, and almost immediately, send flames of heat shooting downwards into his stomach. Gasping and spluttering, he pulled the bottle away and nearly dropped it, feeling the pain shoot through his veins and inflame his muscles. Dimly, he could hear Johnny intone; "Whoa. Take it easy."

"Yeah." He replied, his voice almost as raspy as his friends. Carefully, he set the bottle down on the pavement and fell into a sitting position, trying to keep his head on his shoulders. His body felt sick, not warm. The bottle on the pavement was more than half full, but he had suddenly lost his zest for it. 

Johnny, however, reached forwards and took another sip. His brown eyes grew soft, almost as though the alcohol was a lullaby. Beats looked up at him and, even through his nausea, felt a soft smile tug at his lips. Those brown eyes were intoxicating. Like liqueur. Johnny met his stare, and the two of them calmly revelled in each others gaze, happy for a moment. They had the night. They had whisky. They had each other. 

What more could one ask for?

Johnny's eyes broke from his own and dwelled purposefully on the new bruise that rested above his friends eyebrow bone, and a scab that covered a section of his cheekbone. Beats grinned, almost apologetically, and, on impulse, reached for the whisky bottle.

"They don't call you "beats" for nuttin'." Johnny muttered angrily under his breath, as he handed it over.

"Nope." Beats agreed, not happily, but not sadly either. Stiffening his resolve, he took another swig of the alcohol, and was surprised to find it wasn't half bad the second time around. 

"What was it this time?"

"William." Beats replied, handing the bottle back. Johnny nodded, and took another swig. 

"Still stuck on him?"

Beats sighed and studied his fingers. There were times when it seemed he just couldn't stand to meet Johnny's soft, doe gaze. This was one of them. Guilt inflamed in his stomach, like the whisky. He felt slightly dizzy, but tried to remain upright.

"I guess…y'don't…well…y'know?" He asked, pleadingly. He could see Johnny nodding. And he knew it was alright. 

They passed the bottle back and forth until it was all gone. Beats tossed back his head and held the neck of the bottle above his mouth, draining the very last drops into his throat. He laughed softly as he placed it roughly back on the cobblestone, the world spinning a little faster. He could tell Johnny was out of it too, the way his head lolled slightly on his neck, the way his curls hung in front of his face, the way his lips were half open. 

Johnny pushed himself forwards onto his haunches, and reached out, slowly extending a finger. He pressed it gently against the bruise on his friends forehead. Beat's closed his eyes automatically, and let his friend trace a path, around the bruise, along the edges of his eyebrows, spiralling down over his skin, and reaching the scab on his cheekbone. Johnny barely hesitated as he drew his finger upwards and began drawing spirals over Beat's eyelids, off the side of his face, into his mass of jungle like curls, his fingers getting caught in tangles, and entwining the locks of dark chestnut in their grip. Another hand reached out, pressed two fingers against the bottom of Beat's chin, forcing his face upwards. Beats opened his eyes to see Johnny's face hovering a few inches from his own, eyes dreamy, grinning in a silly, un-Johnny like way. 

"Say." Beats heard himself say. His face felt numb. He wasn't even sure if his lips were moving or not. "When else does Knipes get 'is…'is whisky impirtad…impert…imported?"

Johnny's face morphed into Williams, the dark curls straightening and turning blonde, the two dark eyes lightening and turning a intoxicating blue. And he was kissing him. But the kisses weren't kisses, they were bruises. And kicks. And punches. All aimed at his heart.

Beats lay on the ground, pain throbbing through every sensor in his body, explosion after explosion of hurt echoing throughout his muscles and bones. Every cell of him screamed for it to stop.

"Fucking pansy." William was yelling. "Don't ever talk to me again. Don't even look at me. You do, and I swear, I'll _kill_ you." The words echoed harshly in his head, bouncing off each other, only hurting more every time he heard them. 

"Stop…"

"Boy kisser!"

"Please…"

"Faggot!"

"Don't…"

"Hey."

"Get offa me!"

"Hey, calm down, a'right?"

"Lemme alone! I swear, I'll never…"

"Shh…Don't worry. Jeez, it's jus' me. S'_me_, Blink."

"Blink?"

Beats opened his eyes to see the familiar face hovering above him. He felt his tightened feature relax slightly, even though his head was pounding like a drum, and his skin felt as though it was stretched too tightly over his weary bones. Blink grinned, the same grin that made him feel safe and at home. When Blink was around, he was always safe.

"I t'ought you was…I t'ought…"

"Shh…" Blink pressed a finger to his half open lips, his grin widening, the friendly crinkles around his one visible eye deepening. Beats nodded and closed his own eyes, feeling a strange, dizzy exhaustion take over his body.

__

Man, he thought, as Blink slowly stroked his cheek, his usually rough fingers loving and tender. _What was in that stuff Johnny swiped?_

"Get up." Blink was saying, his voice almost sounding as scratchy as Johnny's. "Comon, get up."

"No…" Mush mumbled in his sleep. "Don't wanna…"

"Comon, you lazy bum, up you get!"

"Mmmph."

"Mush!"

Before he even had time to register, a sharp pain exploded at the back of his head, and he yelped, scrambling up into a sitting position, sleepy eyes blinking in the hot morning light. Kloppman's face hovered beside him, wrinkled and glazed in sweat. 

"Comon, boy! Get up! Lazy, lazy, lazy." He intoned, rhythmically tapping Mush on the head with the end of his cane for every insult. Mush groaned sleepily, and let his limbs flail out, trying to stop the blows. Kloppman had developed his own, unique method of torture especially for him, and Mush was sick of the thick bruises that gathered on his scalp, underneath the curls.

"Quit it!" He said, his voice raspy and dead after a long night of tossing and turning and in a stupor, when he wasn't getting lost in disturbing dreams. "I'm up! _I'm up_!"

"Up, are ya?" Kloppman repeated. "We'll see how long _that_ lasts. Up!" With the last order, he gave Mush an especially vicious tap on the head, making the boy howl indignantly, before moving on to Snipe Shooters bunk, already sheathing his cane and getting ready to pull at the boys curls until he rolled out of bed.

Mush waited indignantly for the pain at the back of his skull to fade, as he watched the bunkroom come into life around him. As soon as the bruises stopped throbbing, he moved to swing himself down from his bunk, but all of a sudden, a more aggravating pain exploded at the front of his head, making him groan and flop down on the covers again. He raised his fingers and trailed them over his forehead, checking for lumps and scars, but all that he could feel was hot, sweaty skin. The room was like an oven, the heat making his head pound and sweat break out on his chest and under his arms.

"Gawd a_bove…_" He murmured, borrowing one of Racetrack's trademark curses. The pain erupted again, making him feel as though he was slowly spinning on a downwards spiral, headfirst, dizzy and disoriented…The new agony began pulsing, in a sick, dulled throb, like a heartbeat. He groaned and rolled over, burying his face into his pillow, feeling as though his limbs had turned to water. There were only a few times that he felt this way, and it was after a night of heavy drinking. How much had he drunk? He scrunched up his eyebrows as a particularily hot burst of pain prickled along his neck. He couldn't even remember. Things started to get hazy around the second bottle. 

"Mush, you up?" A croaky voice interrupted his garbled stream of thoughts. He pushed his head sideways and saw Blink's sparkling sea coloured eyes staring dully at him over the mattress. He hadn't put on his eye patch yet, and the full force of his intent gaze, even when he was hung over, was enough to knock the wind out of Mush. 

"Yeah." He rasped back. "Unfortunately."

"Get up." Blink informed him, eyes slowly flicking over to Kloppman, and back to Mush. "Kloppman's gettin' ready to do a second round."

Groaning, Mush pushed himself up, the mattress sagging underneath him. Already, the hot sun was streaming through the glass and warming the grime and dust that surrounded the window, heating the floorboards and making the air sizzle. "This one's a scorcher!" Specs was saying cheerfully from the bed underneath Mush. He held back the urge to hit the bespectacled boy over the head, and slowly clambered down to the bottom bunk and trudged towards the direction of the washroom. 

Racetrack was already up and trying to mould his image back into that of impeccable, as he wet his straggle-toothed comb and ran it through his thick curls. There were dark circles under his eyes and a steady dullness in them, and the buttons of his waistcoat weren't done up properly. Mush shoved one of the younger kids aside from the sink closest to him, and ignored his victims howls of protest as he leaned over.

"What happened last night?" He asked, watching Racetrack try and work out a particularily vicious knot.

"Beats me." He mumbled, his tongue sounding almost too thick for his mouth. "I remember seein' Blink pass out, and you trynna drag him half a block to the lodgin' house. I think_ I_ passed out laughin'."

"Real funny." Mush scowled, as he placed his hand on the cold water tap. This certain one you had to bang back and forth a couple of times before you could get it to work, and it was more than likely that you'd get water that was more brown than clear. He glanced over and wished that he had decided to usurp the other sink, but it was being manned by Dutchy, who could get a little vicious when you got too close to him. "Seriously, though." He said, lowering his voice slightly as Kloppman stuck his wizened face into the washroom. "What happened?"

"Like I said. _Beats me._" Racetrack snapped, his temper a little on edge on account of the pain flickering in his eyes. "What, you didn't hear me the first time? You deaf or sommin'?"

"Don't bite my head off, I was just asking." Mush retorted, his eyebrows crumpling. He finally managed to get the water gushing out of the tap, but had to grab the sides of the sink to stop from toppling forwards, as a particularily violent flash of pain hit him hard. It didn't help that Crutchy had hobbled by behind him and had nearly knocked his feet out from under him with his crutch.

"Sorry Mush!" He called back over the rabble, as he was swept away by a crowd of younger boys making beelines for the washroom stalls.

"So whaddaya reckon?" Blink asked, suddenly appearing beside the both of them, and grabbing the shaving cream and brush from the sill. The brush was crusty with abuse, and the shaving cream bottle was nearly empty, but he managed to get a decent amount on his hands.

"What do I reckon what?" Mush replied. Blink began rubbing the shaving cream all over his face, and not being too co-ordinated, almost got a mouthful of it. 

"What do I reckon what?" Blink repeated, rolling his eyes. "What do you reckon _happened _last night, genius? I don't remember how we gots back into the house."

"I think I dragged you a block." Mush said, his eyes clouding over as he tried to remember the exact details of the night. Blink furrowed his brows and tried his best to have a conversation while running a rusty razor blade over his face at the same time.

"I remember waking up and being face down on the cobblestones with someone dragging me by the hands." He said sullenly. "And I remember trying to climb a fire escape…You think we got in by the fire escape?"

"I think we're a couple of lucky dogs." Racetrack replied firmly, shoving his hat over his head and staggering slightly as he pushed himself away from the sink. He groaned, and pressed a hand to his temple, clearly showing that he was in as much pain as they were. "I also think," he continued. "That I'm only gonna go wid _twelve_ papes today. No matter how good the headlines is."


	3. two

**Two**

Mush could barely remember what happened that day. He remembered peeling off from the group with Blink and Racetrack to see if the whiskey they had left on the corner was still there, but sure enough, it had disappeared. He remembered a Sarsaparilla at Tibby's for breakfast, and a stolen croissant for lunch. He remembered seeing a man in a striped coat put out a sign in front of Irving hall, but what was on it escaped him. Most of all, he could remember a blinding, aching pain that seemed to flare up with every move he made, every muscle that shifted, and every thought that sparked in his mind.

But the one thing that he remembered vividly was that night. It was that night that Mush stopped sleeping.

Insomnia wasn't a new concept to the boy. Many hours he had spent lying awake in the lodging house, watching the stagnant, thick shadows lie in wide beams across the ceiling, feeling the dusty air press against his lips and make his mouth feel dry and stale. He remembered nearly freezing one winter night, buried under a pile of blankets and his own clothing, his jaw tight and quivering, while his breath curled into thick white fingers of steam against his lips. He remembered fitfully tossing and turning in the wet August heat, his skin damp with sweat, clothed in a pair of long johns that had been unbuttoned at the top and pulled down to his waist. He remembered singing under his breath while listening to the pounding rhythm of rain against the rooftops, and the irritating clinks of the drops as they slid through the cracks into the pots and pans that Kloppman had placed under the leaks, and feeling his heart clench in excitement and terror at the rumblings of thunder deep in the clouds. He even remembered that one night where he had lain very still in his bunk, listening to the sobs coming from the direction of Blink's mattress. Deep, painful, choking swells that sounded as though they were being wrenched out from the boy's chest, whoever he was. Then, too, had Mush lain awake, praying for slumber, fists clenched, eyes squeezed shut, praying _please...please stop...please, please, please_...

But never, not once in his mind, had he the memory of staying awake all night.

It was with a sickening, sinking feeling that he realized dawn was breaking, and beams of light were beginning to stretch across the cracked, sagging ceiling in hot, clear golden fingers. A sense of dreaminess overtook him, and he realized how itchy his eyes felt, how stiff and tired his body seemed, and how dry the air was against his mouth. The next thing he knew, Kloppman's cane was rapping incessantly against his forehead, and there was no chance of even trying to regain the hours of sleep that he had lost.

"You okay?" Blink kept asking him that day. "You look tired."

Consequentially, the boy had opted to sell together that day, which Mush was thankful for, even though he wasn't sure it was entirely due to friendship. As they approached the corner of Delancey and Avenue A, Blink turned to him and murmured conspiratorially: "Just keep lookin' all pale and puffy eyed like that. I'll tell them you gots tuberculosis, see?"

The story hadn't been a very good one, Mush reflected as he sat at the edge of his bunk, legs hanging down over the edge. Blink couldn't manage to persuade the buyers that the two of them were related, so the one thing they received in abundance was dirty looks. Blink had finally thrown down the last of his ten papers and angrily proclaimed that he wasn't going to waste his time trying to sell what he hadn't bought in the first place.

For sure enough, Blink hadn't been in line at the distribution office. Mush had consented to buying his papers alone, rubbing at his headache and trying to smile as Racetrack, Crutchy, and Jack exchanged the usual run of insults and puns, the words almost meaningless to him. Later on, Blink had shown up with a full load of papers, whistling a tune under his breath, and only winking when Mush asked him if he had ripped them off again. He sold all of them.

Mush could only watch in wonder.

"You goin' out tonight?" Blink asked.

Mush glanced up from his own shoes, startled, and saw that his friend was standing by his bunk, one arm casually thrown over the edge, leaning against the side. His eye patch was slightly crooked, revealing the corner of his hidden eye. Mush noticed how the flesh underneath looked slightly paler, and there were deep lines etched into his skin, tired lines. Worried lines.

"Ah...I'm...I guess." Mush stumbled. His tongue felt thick and useless in his mouth. Blink busied himself with straightening the patch, and in an instant, the lines were hidden and he seemed almost as exuberant as he was before.

"C'mon. I'll take you to Medda's new show."

"I thought you said the goils didn't show enough a' their skin." Mush said absently, his eyes still trailing the curves of Blink's face. Blink's eyes crinkled and his mouth split into a grin.

"They didn't. Until she took on this new dame. She's a can-can dancer...from Pare-ee." Blink shrugged his eyebrows up and down, his smile goading Mush on. "Them French got the right idea, huh? Y'know these goils lifts their skoits all the way up?"

"Nuh uh." Mush said, feeling slightly shocked at the idea. After months of standing on the corner "ankle-watching" with Blink, waiting for a hot summer wind to swoop by and kick the ladies skirts asunder, the idea of seeing a girl's leg was almost laughable. Mush had never seen under a girl's skirt before. He impatiently brushed the thought away. "They can't do that."

"They do now."

"That's illegal."

"Oh yeah? Says who?"

"Ev'rybody." Mush said in disbelief, his eyebrows scrunched high in his forehead. Blink rolled his one visible eye, and opened his mouth to retaliate, but a new voice cut him off.

"Blink. Hey, hey Blink."

Mush started in confusion, then turned to see Racetrack on the other side of the bunk, his hair slightly rumpled from being crammed under his hat all day, and his face tanned and worn.

"Hey, Race, s'on your mind?" Blink asked, turning to face him over the mattress. Mush took the time to push himself off the bunk and onto the floor, landing heavily, feeling as though the wood might part and swallow him up. He didn't feel like going out to see the show at all, even with the promise of the girl's scantiness, which did nothing for him. Of course. But he considered the alternative option, and tried to imagine spending the evening alone in a bunkroom full of the children too young to go out and too obnoxious to put up with. He briefly contemplated goading Racetrack into staying at the house with him, maybe at the price of a round of poker or two, but his hope quickly died at the words he and Blink were bantering back and forth.

"Again?" Blink was saying in aggravation. "That's the secon' time this week!"

"Aw, c'mon, Blink, please..." Racetrack said in return, leaning forwards so his chin was jutting out over the edge, his brows wrinkling. "You 'memba that bet I toldja about? The Devlin gang? Over franks, Blink, you 'memba? I'm meeting with them tonight, an' I need all the help I can get. You wouldn't send me there empty handed, wouldja Blink?"

Mush groaned inwardly, and grabbed his shoes from underneath the bunk.

"Fine." Blink was arguing. "I can spare sevenny cents, maybe. Yeah, that's all," He replied aggressively as Racetrack's tone rose in octaves. "That an' the eye patch. Look, I'm sorry. Mush and I are goin' to see the show tonight, see?"

Mush finished pulling on his other shoe, and straightened up in time to see Blink reach behind his head to untie the eye patch, his brows furrowed in slight concentration. Racetrack, seeing that he had to be content with his lot, sighed and looked as though he had been deprived.

"Yeah, yeah, a'right, a'right." He consented, taking the eye patch and raising it to his face. "Left or right?"

"Right." Blink told him. "Make like it was yer good eye."

"Yeah..."

Even though the patch was Blink's trademark when selling, Racetrack managed to worm his way into using it, in order to get sympathy while dealing with the boys he regularly cheated. Blink turned back to Mush, caught his eyes, and Mush experienced that peculiar sensation of falling forwards, as though he had missed a step in the dark and his stomach had plummeted down through the soles of his feet. Blink's crystalline, blue eyed gaze made his chest constrict, made a sweat break out on his palms, made a grin light the corners of his lips no matter how bad a mood he was in.

"C'mon." Blink told him, giving him the tiniest shadow of a wink. "My treat." With that, he amiably slung an arm over Mush's shoulder and patted him twice near the collarbone with his free hand. The knocks vibrated deep in his chest, like a heartbeat.

* * *

Irving Hall had always seemed like a lesser form of heaven to Mush. Whenever he entered it's dark, cavernous auditorium, no matter how much he strained his eyes, the ceiling still seemed thrown away in darkness, lost up in the height of the building. Everything was glorified and dusty and beautiful, from the gilded carving work that wove it's way down the walls, to the gutter children that sat up in the balconies, their lips and fingers sticky with candy. Mush had honestly believed, when he had first entered, that there was something magical and holy about the place, like a church or a temple.

The magic wore off with the first show.

He sat now with Blink at a table near the stage, as close as they could get without breaking Blink's funds. Mush was nearly asleep, the darkness making his eyes droop with exhaustion, the light padding on the chair suddenly seeming like luxury.

"You won't regret this," Blink was assuring him. Mush nodded vaguely.

The lights were thrown across the stage carelessly, pale golden beams that cast the actor's shadows against the phony, painted backdrop, where they danced and flickered across the hall, larger than life, yet thin and empty like ghosts. Medda was singing, something about a blackbird and a bed, Mush couldn't seem to put two and two together. His dry, sleepless eyes were trained on the blurred silhouette of her against the back, arms floating as though caught on a breeze, the numerous frills and ribbons catching the light on her short dress and flaring up bright and luminous. Her shadow seemed much taller, and much more graceful, as it wisped back and forth, like some kind of sprite. It seemed almost a disappointment to turn one's eyes back to the caster, whose wrinkles were beginning to show through the mask of her makeup, and whose eyes were dull behind their paint.

"Christ, she's a beauty, ain't she?" Blink said appreciatively.

Mush didn't want to talk about how beautiful she was. He didn't think she was beautiful at all, but he didn't want Blink to get started on Mush's taste in women. He sighed and trained his eyes on the full glass of Sarsaparilla that he and Blink were sharing.

"You think that French dame is on soon?" He asked, eager to feign happiness through the number and then get back to the lodging house. Everything around him seemed to be on a stage, from the gaudy, dolled up waitresses to the thin, reedy men with thin, reedy mustaches that let out whistles and cat calls in thin, reedy voices. He felt as though he was only watching, a lone bystander who just happened to be caught up in the action. It made his head spin.

"I shooah hope so." Blink replied, raising his eyebrows. The darkness and gold off the lights erased the faint outline of where the eye patch used to rest against his skin. "I tell ya, I'm in the mood for some action." He glanced meaningfully up at Medda, whose routine was quickly becoming pedantic, reached forwards, and drained half of the drink in one gulp. Mush lowered his eyes back to the glass as Blink placed it on the table, and stared down at the darkness of the liquid, and the shining edges of the crudely cut ice cubes that had been poured into it. He wished he had the heart to drink it, considering it might bring him back to his senses, might wake him up, might get him to start participating in what was going on.

"Mush? Mush, you okay?" Blink's voice cut into his thoughts, and he shifted in his seat, flicking his eyes up to his friends face. A film of pain had spread it's way across his scalp, and he was having trouble thinking. Blink was little more than lightly shaded edges and a dark outline in the ill lit hall, but the expression on his friend's face was evident. "You've been like this all day." Blink said, sitting back in his seat and regarding his friend with a touch of concern in his eyes. "You don't really have tuberculosis, do ya?"

"Nuh uh."

"Good. I ain't sharing no Sarsaparilla with some punk with tuberculosis, see?"

Mush smiled in spite of himself, as the tinkling piano music rounded itself off in a thumping conclusion. Medda spread her arms out wide and lifted her chin, the worn smile that Mush had found himself familiar with lightening her face. The audience's cat calls slowly thundered into applause, as hats were waved in the air and kisses blown. Medda smiled and took her time to accept the ovation, eyes scanning the crowd, winking every once in a while, pursing her lips in exaggerated air kisses to every male that caught her eye.

Finally, after giving final curtsy, she blew a goodbye kiss and sashayed off the stage, her shadow growing smaller and smaller as she moved forwards to meet it. Mush watched the way it shrunk, watched the way the outlines grew clearer, until they were almost the same size. It seemed funny, but he wasn't quite sure how.

"Top you boys up?" A voice asked. Mush turned to see a different waitress standing there, her arms shockingly bare and her skirt hitched up to her ankles, presenting two worn feet in dark, high heeled boots. Blink took his time looking her over, as much as the darkness would permit, before shaking his head and raising his eyes hopefully back up to the stage. He wasn't disappointed.

A man, clad in a gaudy red and white striped waistcoat and boater hat, eased himself out of the dark wings, carrying large white cards that caught the light and gleamed. He moved to the easel at the side of the stage, removed the current card it was holding which proclaimed **Medda Larkin, the singing, dancing, Swedish Meadow Lark, and replaced it with another**.

Immediately, the audience broke out in anticipatory whispers, eyes gleaming and palms rubbing together. In large, bold letters, gilded with painted ornate work for a border, the card read **Mademoiselle Lise L'Ormand, dancing Parisian Sensation.**

"That's her!" Blink said excitedly, reaching across the table and swatting Mush's hand. "That's the one I tells you about!" He laughed out loud, and settled back in his chair, his hand still stretched across the narrow table, inches away from Mush's own. Mush glanced at it and briefly contemplated covering his friend's fingers with his own, holding them gently in his hand and stroking at his palm.

He immediately pushed the thought out of his head as the house lights darkened and a figure stepped out from the wings.

She was unlike any girl Mush had ever seen before, and he couldn't help but study her face, and the way her body curved and jerked as she moved. Her eyes were wide and flirtatious, flashing coquettishly underneath the blue paint that was caked around them. The rouge on her cheeks made her face look long and angular, and was dark against the pallor of her skin, her lipstick was ablaze in the stage lights, red as fire and blood. Her dark curls were pulled back from her face, only to fluff out at the back of her head, curling around a purple feather that wisped off dreamily upwards. The dress was unlike anything Mush had ever seen, or ever imagined he would see. The utter skimpiness of it made him feel as though it was all some kind of scam, and the police would bust in any moment and arrest her for indecent exposure.

"Jesus!" He heard Blink exhale loudly. The men in the audience seemed to be thinking along the same lines, for it was with an excited, whispery silence underneath the tinkling notes of the piano that the new dancer was greeted. It didn't seem to perturb her in the least. Her face split open into a wide open smile, and she swayed up to a chair that had been set center stage for her. With a gesture that was more water than movement, she swung herself around into the seat, crossed her legs primly, and leaned against the hard back, eyes surveying the crowd, as though she had been surprised with a wonderful gift.

The lights pooled around her, and Mush could see the dress in detail. It made his face heat up, and he found himself studying the edge of the stage instead. She wore only a purple bodice and deep black skirt, one that barely reached her ankles, and revealed two slim calves decorated in swirl stockings, and feet tucked into thin black dancer's shoes. Her arms were pale and silky in the spotlight, her hips and shoulders narrow and frail, her neck long and stately. The men, having finally regained their voices, became more daring, whistling and blowing kisses as they had done for Medda.

Blink's fingers reached out and brushed Mush's. Mush glanced up, startled, to see Blink leaning over the table and grinning at him.

"Are we in heaven?" He asked. "Or are we in heaven?"

"_Bonjour_," The girls grinned widened as she trilled out the words, her voice light and airy, with a touch of deepness that made Blink let out a rough breath. "_Je m'appelle Mademoiselle Lise L'Ormand…comment sava?_"

It was clear that not one male understood a word that had just passed through this pretty girl's silken lips, and not one was ready to care. Lise laughed, throwing her head back, and spread her fingers, showing her palms to the audience.

"I am having a hard time with my Eenglish." She said, in an apologetic tone, her eyes sparkling. "But perhaps one of you _garcons_ would be 'appy to give to me lessons?" The applause was almost overwhelming. She laughed again, a pretty, tinkling laugh that made the hairs on the back of Mush's head stand up.

"But of course," she continued, pushing herself up from the chair and circling around to the back of it. "Your lessons would not go unrewarded. I am supposing zat I could teach you some _Francais_ in return?" A coy smile tugged at her lips as she reached the back of the chair and rested her fingers on it. "I could teach you to…talk like ze French do." She raised her eyebrows. "To speak like ze French do…write like ze French do…read like ze French do…dance like ze French do…" Her face lowered slightly, and the coyness in her smile became more pronounced. "To kiss like ze French do…"

Mush's fingers twitched, and he felt them brush up against Blink's once more. He made to jerk them away, but some strange impulse made him remain still, his breath bated, lips parted slightly. He could feel the texture of his friends skin against his own, could feel the slight tickle from the hairs on Blink's knuckles. He took a deep breath and tried to ignore the fact that Blink had not brought his hands away to clap like the rest of the men were doing.

Lise was laughing again, tossing her head back, making the long purple feather quiver. She had the attention of every man in the hall now, and Mush could almost picture Medda's satisfied grin from backstage.

"Oh, but do not tell me you 'ave not 'eard about…'ow is it you say…French kissing?" She asked, raising her eyebrows prettily. Blink was staring up at the stage with a mixture of awe and hunger on his face. "I 'ave 'eard of ze French kissing. In fact, ze reason I am standing in front of you on zis night was because of ze French kissing." She raised one shoulder, and smirked. "Ze French kissing, and ze French 'olding, and ze French petting…" The bad timing of the joke was forgotten as she silkily lifted a leg and slid it over the back of the chair, the skirt hiking up to the knee.

"Jesus," Blink said again, his voice raspier than Mush remembered. His fingers uncurled slightly, pressing themselves against the side of Mush's hand. Mush held his breath.

"_Non, non, silence sil-vous-plait_!" The girl was protesting charmingly at the amount of noise in the hall. "Really,_ madames et monsieurs_, I 'ave 'eard of ze French kissing. As a matter of fact, I 'ave tried ze French kissing." There was a pregnant pause at this, as the audience held it's breath. From offstage, a loud voice called; "Was it good?"

"Was it good?" The girl asked, her face crumpling into an exaggerated pout as she considered the question. The mischievous sparkle flashed in her eyes again, and her face split into a playful smile. "Depends. Ze one when I was on my back, or ze one when I was on my side?"

The thunderous applause rose as she placed her foot solidly on the seat of the chair and slid forwards, her back arching slightly, the skirt sliding up more of her thigh.

"_Non, non_, please, it is too much." She smiled at the reaction, looking down modestly. "You are all too kind. Zey did not applaud like zis in Paris, I can assure you. But of course, I 'ave 'eard things about American_ garcons_ as well." She raised her eyebrows. "Some say zat zey are louder than ze French. Much louder." She smiled again, and even Mush felt a slight tremor in his stomach at the intensity of her gaze. "I 'ave also 'eard zat zey are more…'ow is it you say…more voluminous in many ozzur areas…" She winked. "I cannot say I know for sure. But a_ fille_ may always dream, ah?"

The only thing louder than the applause was the music from the piano as she gracefully slid her leg back onto the ground, kicked up her heel, and with a flirtatious toss of her head, sashayed around the chair towards the front of the stage. Already some of the men were standing up, waving their fingers and hats, blowing over exaggerated kisses towards.

"You American boys are too kind." She purred, placing her hands on her hips as the music swelled from the pit. "_Oui,_ much too kind indeed." And with another coy wink, she began to dance.

Mush's fingers curled slightly, and with his heart pounding at the root of his tongue, he slowly pushed them back against Blink's, feeling as though something was twisting his stomach tighter and tighter into a corkscrew. He didn't dare to glance over at his friend, but could see him out of the corner of his eye. Blink made no move to pull away, even though his eyes were fastened up on the stage and his mouth was open in a grin, his feet tapping along in time to the music. His fingers were rough and warm, the skin calloused and dirty, but comforting. The roar in Mush's ears could only be compared to the roars of the audience as Lise turned to the right wings and kicked her foot so high, it nearly reached her head.

A flash of color seemed to glare out from underneath the black skirt, and a cacophony of yells rose up to meet her. She laughed out loud, kicking the other foot up in time to the music, again letting the colors flash across the auditorium. She did a few simple turns towards the right of the stage, her skirt billowing out and revealing more of her shapely legs, her well turned ankles, the underside of her skirt.

Blinks fingers moved slightly, and a shot of heat drove itself through Mush's body.

The piano music quieted as Lise leaned forwards conspiratorially.

"I am not very well…'ow is it said…acquainted with ze American dances. But zis one I take from France to you. It's called ze can can." She slowly slid her hands down to the bottom of her skirt, before grabbing the hem. "It is not to be allowed in Paris where I used to work, but I dare say zat you American boys can 'andle it?"

Stop, Mush thought, as she slowly slid the hem of her skirt up her shins, as his fingers slowly moved to cover Blinks. What are you doing? Stop this. Stop this.

She flipped the hem of the skirt up, revealing two or three stripes of brightly colored fabrics running along the edge, smiling at the shrill whistles. She wasn't wearing any petticoats.

Mush held his breath, listening to the heartbeats rocking through his body, shutting down his exhausted, blurred mind, and shifted his hand forwards until his fingers were resting on Blinks.

Slowly, she began to straighten up as the piano music began rising in a crushing, pounding crescendo, as the whoops and hollers of the audience rose to a near ear-splitting roar. She swayed slightly to the beat, her smile still in place, as though painted on.

Blinks skin seemed hot and flushed underneath Mush's touch. He gently let his hand rest, the forbidden euphoria coursing through him like some sort of drug, pounding through his veins.

Strip after strip of color was revealed as her skirt was pulled upwards, as she straightened up fully, holding the hem at waist height, revealing the lower half of her thighs. Slowly, but gathering speed with the tempo, she began to gracefully kick her legs out, low to the ground, making the colors sway and blur in Mush's vision. He could feel a hot, tight sensation in his chest that made his skin heat and his eyes droop shut, tightening along the brows, made him dig his teeth into his lower lip until he could taste blood.

Lise began to kick higher and higher, whirling across the stage in a gruesome moving picture of color and lust. Every other kick or so, she exposed a glimpse of the pure white, frilled bloomers underneath her skirt, goading the men onto wilder cheers and whistles.

"Jesus…" Blink was muttering, leaning forwards in his seat and staring up at the stage with rapture.

Mush trained his eyes on the dancing girl, feeling them burn with exhaustion and excitement as she raised the skirt as high as it would go, presenting a veritable circle of color and indecency, exposing the way the garters dug into her pale legs, and the frills near the top of her stockings. Mush felt like he was going to throw up as the audience burst into wild applause.

Almost immediately, the piano music tinkled away, and she dropped the skirt back into place, making the men in the hall groan with disappointment. A coy smile lit up her features once more as she stalked back to the chair and propped one foot up on it, leaning over onto the leg and placing her elbow on the knee, her chin on her fist.

"It is true." She said teasingly, having to shout over the noise. "What zey say about ze American boys. As for ze rest, I can only imagine…" Her eyes flashed. Mush felt as though he was on fire. Blink's thumb rested against his first finger, and he could feel it twitch, as though in longing. He swallowed and tried hard to keep his breathing steady. The piano music started up again, this time slower, the tune a little less jumpy. Lise smiled, and spun gracefully back into her seat. "'Owever, you boys have really been too kind. You cannot imagine 'ow lonely it is to be in such a large, large country with so many people. I appreciate your…what is it…generosity? Oui. I appreciate your generosity. And, as always, I 'ave some'sing to give in return…" She pushed herself up from her seat and teasingly, almost casually, ran a hand up her side. The audience waited with baited breath as the piano swelled and she grabbed the string of her bodice and gave it a bold yank.

Mush gasped, and he could feel Blink's whole hand twitch underneath his, as the ties loosened, and her face broke into a silky smile. She began to sway in time to the music, her other hand slowly moving to help undo the complicated lacings up the front of the dress.

Mush felt Blink's thumb move against him once more, a long, rough stroke up his first finger, clumsily lining the bump of the knuckle and the edge of his fingernail. Mush felt his skin erupt, a tingling sensation emanating from his hand, as Blink slowly moved his thumb back to where it had been before.

Lise, her bodice maddeningly loose, drew her hands up to her hair and removed a few pins, letting the dark, velvety curtain of curls loosen, a few strands falling and brushing against her narrow shoulders in a becoming way.

"I am so tired." She said, in a voice that bordered on the edge of a whine. "Sometimes zis dancing can take _so _much out of me…" She moved back to her chair and sat down, taking her time as she reached down towards her feet and began to undo the lacings on her dance shoes, her eyes never leaving the audience once.

Blinks thumb was trailing a line up Mush's finger once more, every inch of skin he brushed burning with heat. Mush bit his lip harder, feeling the teeth dig into the old cuts, as Blink began moving into a rhythm, slowly stroking his skin.

Lise kicked off both shoes and sat forwards on her chair, arching her back, and let the straps on her shoulders slowly slide down to her arms, making Mush nearly go deaf with the screams and yells that rang through the hall. His fingers twitched once, trembling on Blink's skin, before drawing them back and forth on the back of his hand, his body shaking with desire. This wasn't a quick punch to the arm, or a friendly pat on the back. This was touching, this was feeling. He could feel a bead of sweat slowly slide down his temple.

"You will have to keep this a secret," Lise told the audience in a throaty stage whisper, as her hands moved to the neckline of the bodice, curling the hem outwards. "Zis shall be between just me and you, _n'est pas_?"

Mush jerked his hand away and pushed his chair back, his ears ringing with screams and music and yells and strange alarms going off in his mind. Excusing himself in trembling murmurs, he stood and fled from the hall.


	4. three

****

Chapter Three

Mush lay awake all night.

He had never realized that his eyes could burn as harshly as they did that night, never realized how tired he could be without sleeping, how sick he could be without throwing up, never knew how blurry his mind was in between his thoughts. Every cell in his body seemed to be on edge, strained, and tingling. He couldn't sleep. With every second that passed, he wished he could, but every time he closed his eyes, they burned until he thought he would go blind with the pain. All night, he lay staring up at the ceiling, wishing he could fall asleep, into a sweet, weightless world of dreams, and wake up to a day where he liked girls better than boys, a day where he didn't have to look at Blink and pretend that all he felt was friendship. Anything to keep from facing his friend when the sun began to shine down on the edges of the city, and Kloppman came thumping up the stairs...

He clenched his hands tight until they made fists, and tried to disappear. The feelings that were pounding in his fingers made him feel sinful, almost dirty, the strange burning sensation against his skin still as strong as it had been back at the theater. His skin was stinging from when he had raked his nails over his fist, trying to let the pain cover up the feeling until it was buried deep in his flesh, but the strange, raw skin frightened him, and he stopped, clenching his teeth together. Anything to serve as a distraction to his thoughts.

For his thoughts was what was really keeping him up, despite the heat burning deep in his chest and the strange dryness in his throat. Over and over, against his will, he had relived those few moments in the theater that had seemed like another lifetime. Mentally, he rebuked himself over and over again for touching Blink like that, for leaving himself open and vulnerable to whatever Blink thought of him...mentally, he shriveled and curled up tight, wishing he could just take back the whole evening. Wishing that he could forget about the part where Blink touched him back. For that was the part that scared him the most. When Blink had moved his fingertip against Mush's thumb, clumsily and sweetly, curiously, he had felt an explosion inside that scared him, making him shake in his bunk.

He couldn't let this get to him.

He commenced staring at the ceiling, watching as it moved from black to gray, the gray intermingling with tinges of gold, and then the final sweep of light that meant the sun was making it's usual appearance. He could hear the tired footsteps of Kloppman pounding up the stairs, and the aimless, threatening comments he was already making under his breath. Mush blinked, realizing that another whole night had passed without him sleeping a wink. His body was drenched in sweat, and it seemed that his muscles were hardly there any more.

It was in a dull stupor that he pushed himself up from his flimsy and looked across the room to Blink's lower bunk. It was empty, the blanket kicked back against the foot boards, the pillow flat and unused. Blink hadn't come back at all.

-o-

He didn't see Blink for the next two days.

It was on the second evening that they met once more, on the corner of Delancey and Avenue A. Mush was standing blearily over a stack of papers that he had failed to sell once more, his eyes nearly shut with exhaustion. He had been awake for the past three nights, and it was starting to catch up with him in a very serious way, making him dizzy and disoriented in turns, making his appetite fade until there was hardly anything left. There was nothing to mark the passing of time anymore, Blink wasn't around, and he wasn't falling asleep. Everything seemed to be some kind of motionless blur that didn't make any sense, snatches of conversation and barking laughter that echoed within his mind. And food. He had eaten a bun yesterday, he remembered that, and he might have had a drink of Racetrack's sarsaparilla. But he hadn't eaten that day.

Strangely enough, it didn't seem to bother him. His body was too numb to feel the hunger pains that stabbed repeatedly at his stomach, too numb to feel the weakness in his limbs. He forced his eyelids back up, eyes groggily checking the sky, trying to see what time it was, but the sun was blocked by a layer of early autumn clouds that trapped the heat down in between the buildings and onto the ashen streets. It was past lunchtime, he knew that, he had seen the apple drop by the bank clock. But whether it was evening or not was unknown to him. Nothing was known to him anymore. People moved by him, face after face glancing off his mind and fading, making him feel enclosed and battered open, even though no one touched him. He groaned, and raised a hand up to his bruised, swollen eyes, pressing down against them and feeling his forehead ache. His head was the worst. It was engulfed in a dull, bruising pain that didn't seem to end, didn't seem to pulse or move, just settled against his skull. He didn't know that headaches like that existed. Wetting his lips with a seemingly dry tongue, he let his hand drop loosely to his side and blinked a few times to clear his eyes. That's when he saw him.

Blink was strolling down the street, limbs loose and relaxed, lips pursed into a whistle. His eye patch was on slightly crooked, the band lopped over one eyebrow, but his cap was off and stuffed into his pocket, shirt unbuttoned to reveal the gray, sweat stained undershirt that he wore. Mush felt his stomach twitch involuntarily, and tried to get his muscles to move, tried to somehow hide himself, blend into the brick behind him. But Blink had already caught sight of him, and a hesitant grin was expanding on his face.

"Mush!" He yelled, moving towards him, dodging a rush of shoppers and breaking into a quicker pace. "Hey! Mush! Over here!"

Mush looked up hesitantly, brown eyes foggy and repentant. He hadn't spoken to Blink since the night at the theater...was he angry? He didn't look like he was upset as he neared him, cursing out a lady under his breath for getting in his way, and hopping up onto the curb. Mush lowered his papers until he was holding them against his side, and forced an irresolute smile onto his face.

"Hey! Where the hell didja go?" Blink asked, reaching out and punching Mush hard on the upper arm. Mush felt his whole body sway, his center of balance swinging erratically from side to side. If it weren't for the ridicule he knew he'd receive later, he would have collapsed onto the cobblestone beneath him.

"What?" He asked. Blink raised an eyebrow.

"After the show! You just beat it outta there like some kinda bat outta hell!" He reached down and grabbed a handful of newspapers at Mush's feet, hoisting them up into his own arms and studying the headlines. Mush didn't say anything.

After Blink had read a few of them leisurely, he looked back up at Mush again, his eyebrows furrowed tight over his nose.

"You okay?" He asked. "You don't look so good. You drunk or sommin'?"

"How many hours in a day?" Mush asked in reply. Blink paused, his eyes narrowing slightly. Mush watched as the skin on his forehead creased.

"Twenny four," he replied.

"So...in three days there's...what?" He watched his friend blandly. Blink was good with numbers. He bit the inside of his lip as he considered, before finally answering.

"Maybe 'bout sixty two," he said in an uncertain tone. "What are you playin' at?"

"Sixty two," Mush repeated in a dazed sounding voice. He had been awake for sixty two hours. "You know what that is?"

"Sure do," Blink said, dropping the papers down by Mush's feet. "It's a hell of a long time, that's what it is. You eaten yet today?" Mush paused, furrowing his eyebrows. Blink's question had thrown his train of thought straight off the track. But then again, he hadn't exactly been the most focused person all day either. Blink was giving him a very strange look. Mush rubbed a hand over his tired eyes and decided to ignore the question completely. If he had answered with "I don't know," Blink would have thought he had stolen more whiskey from Knipes.

"Where've _you_ been?" He countered, dropping his hand and focusing his red eyes on his friend. "I woke up the next day and you weren't there."

The smile that appeared on Blink's face when he was talking about women returned again, and Mush curled up inside. He should have known. Why else would Blink be away from the lodging house for days on end? He looked especially smug now, with his blonde hair falling into his eyes, his lips twisted up tighter than usual.

"Had myself a visit with the luv-erly _Adriana Fuentes," _Blink replied, trying for his life to sound Spanish. "She 'as a tenement with..."

"Her cousin," Mush finished dully for him. "I know, I know...look, Blink, I'm really tired, an'..."

"Man. Them Spanish know how to move." Blink said. It was as though he hadn't heard Mush speak at all.

-o-

It was a few days later that Mush began to hallucinate.

Not much seemed to stick firmly in his memory. He began to wonder if he was really sleeping or not, reality had begun to take on a dreamlike quality, speeding and slowing, blurring speech and making time melt before him. He remembered what seemed like countless nights of lying awake and staring at the ceiling, a ceiling he got to know very well as he traced his bloodshot, blurry eyes over the innumerable cracks and holes, the stains from the water that used to leak through, and dirty hand prints from the boy who used to stand on his bunk and press his palms flat against the ceiling. Every murmur that he heard, he could connect to a face. He knew who spoke in their sleep, he knew who whistled, kicked, tossed, cried. He became an expert. And he hated it.

Blink began to notice his strange state when his friend nearly crashed into the doorframe of the lodging house, limbs heavy with exhaustion and eyes weakly shut. Every time he reached out a steady hand to guide him, or offered to sell the rest of his papers, Mush's heart almost broke with gratitude and a lingering, sad hopefulness. He had no choice but to stick by his friend, allow him to chip in for lunches, let him guide him back to the lodging house. Where Blink was getting all this money from was obvious enough, he would tell Mush to sit tight by the gates, and come back ten minutes later with his arms full of papers that he obviously had not paid for. Mush didn't even question this, just took his share, thanked his friend, and tried to read.

It was that day that he began to swat at mosquitoes that weren't there.

"Mush? Mush?" The words seemed to be coming from a long, long way away. Mush tried to lift his heavy, heavy hands to put an end to the irritating buzz of the insect once and for all, but it seemed that they were weighted down with stone. Blearily, he tried to focus on Blink. Only there wasn't just one of him. There were three or four of him, all swaying and blending together dizzily in front of his eyes. The flash of a concerned eye appeared once or twice in his vision, the dark wrinkles on his forehead. "You okay, buddy?'

"I'm tired," Mush managed through a thick, blurry tongue. He leaned back against the building behind him, feeling his limbs shake, unable to hold his weight. "I haven't...how many hours in a day?"

Blink shook his head and pulled his hat off, running a hand through his greasy hair. The days were slowly getting shorter, the humidity trapped in the city and making everyone sweat. Mush felt as though the heat would crush him.

"You gotta get some sleep, buddy," Blink told him. Mush closed his eyes. He didn't need advice like that. He knew what he needed. The mosquito was buzzing incessantly in front of him, and murmuring a curse, Mush lifted a hand to swat it. He missed, nearly hitting himself in his own face. "Mush? Quit that."

"Mosquito..." Mush muttered, his own words nearly being decapitated before leaving his thick lips. Blink stared at him for a moment longer, before shaking his head.

"Go back to the lodgin' house, Mush," he said, hoisting his papers up onto his shoulder. "You can't sell like this."

-o-

Mush didn't set foot in the lodging house that night. He returned, yes, but he didn't open the door, didn't cross the lobby, didn't climb the stairs and collapse into his bunk like the rest of the boys. He didn't sit outside on the stoop with a cigarette, didn't loiter around the curb, didn't go searching for adventure or booze or Blink. He went to the roof.

He could barely remember how he had climbed up to the roof in the first place. But there he was.

No one ever came up on the roof, especially in the summer. The fire escape was rusting and falling away in places, and there was no protective ledge bordering the edges of the building, leaving only a sheer two floor drop to the hard cement. Kloppman tried to scare them into staying in their bunk rooms by telling them that a newsie by the name of Mattias Gudrun had been fooling around up on the roof and had fallen to his death. It worked. The only times the newsies really came up was to hang up their laundry to dry, and who had time for laundry these days?

Mush stood there, staring out at the row of squat, crooked buildings before him. To say that he could see the city beneath his feet would be a lie, the lodging house was too lowly and crumbling. But he could see over the streets, and he could see that they were empty. It made him feel almost frightened, as though he was the only person alive in the world. The city's grinding rumble had grated to a rough halt, and the only sounds left were the rambling yowls of a cat in the next alleyway, and the constant scratching of rats in the walls. He wrapped his arms around his own chest and squeezed them tight, feeling his heart contract slightly. His skin was numb. He was so tired.

Memories and concepts were playing out before him, almost as though they were part of the picture before him, part of the scene that he set. He staggered over to the chimney and collapsed against it, realizing how drenched his clothes were against his flesh, and how sticky and warm his whole body was. The night was oppressively hot, pressing down against the city with no hint of a cool breeze to relieve them. Mush shut his eyes, before grabbing the hem of his shirt between his fingers and peeling it off of his chest, feeling the air press against his skin. Carelessly, he tossed it to one side and laid back against the chimney, the rough, hot brick digging into his flesh, waking him slightly, making his skin tingle as though it had been asleep.

It almost seemed hotter on the roof than on the ground. The thick smoke pouring from the chimney seemed to surround him like a fog, trapping the air and ash in his mouth, making his lungs feel gritty, as though he had smoked a pack of cigarettes. The heat was intensified, dizzying. He could almost see shapes in the gentle pattern of smoke that drifted up and up towards the starry, clear sky...

And then, much to his surprise, a cool breeze rustled along the rooftops and broke gently against his face.

The feeling was extraordinary, the cool graze of breath against his skin, one that he hadn't felt all summer. It pulsed against him, drying the sweat on his forehead and wiping away his tears, sweeping the smoke off the roof and back into the alley with a gentle, hushing whisper. He closed his eyes and parted his lips slightly, feeling it rush into his hot, sour tasting mouth and fill his dusty lungs again. It felt like heaven.

"Mush?"

Mush nearly fell off the roof at the sound of his name, and he jerked his entire body around, eyes wide open. Blink was standing by the fire escape.

Mush felt his heart stop inside his body, skipping a beat or two, pausing for so long that he almost thought he had died. Blink wasn't wearing his hat, and his hair had been freshly washed, and was gleaming in the silvery light from the stars. He was back lit by the lights from the next building, outlining him in a golden luminescence that made Mush think, not for the first time, of angels.

"The hell are you doin' up here, buddy?" Blink asked.

Mush let out a breath as his friend paced towards him, feeling his heart speed up, feeling his pulse pound desperately in his wrists and throat. He shrugged, glad that it was so dark his friend could not see the light that sprang up in his eyes. Nevertheless, he turned his face away, returned his eyes to the darkened, ashen street below them.

"Couldn't sleep. What're you doin' up here?" He replied casually. He didn't move his eyes as Blink sat next to him, but he could feel the small rush of air against his side and the relaxed sigh that escaped his friend's lips. As Blink moved to put his hand on his knee, his fingers brushed Mush's thigh, and the whole word could have stopped spinning.

"I thought you were up here," Blink replied, just as casually. Mush didn't say anything, feeling the tingle in his skin slowly fade in the place where Blink's fingers had grazed it. He thought he was up there. Blink had followed Mush up to the roof. He didn't dare chance a glance at his friend, who was staring out complacently at the lackluster view, but leaned back against the chimney and let his head loll against the brick.

"You feelin' any better?" Blink was asking, as he dug his hand into his pocket. After a few moments of fumbling, he managed to pull out a soiled, crumpled pack of cigarettes and a few matches. Mush shook his head, and Blink grimaced in pity, offering him a cigarette. Again, Mush shook his head, and Blink shrugged, before wrapping his lips around the end and striking the match against the chimney.

"I can't sleep," Mush told him. Blink nodded.

"Mmm. You said."

"Yeah."

The two of them sat in silence as Blink brought the match to the tip of the cigarette and inhaled, making the fire dance and the tobacco catch. He closed his eyes and let the breath out his nose, before shaking the match vigorously and tossing it aside. Mush felt an almost sad feeling well up in his throat at the sight of his friend's simplest gestures. Everything he did was so uniquely his own, every word he spoke, every smile and twinkle of his eye.

"How's Adriana?" He asked. Blink didn't answer. He just took another drag on his cigarette and blew the smoke out into the air until it stretched itself out thinner and thinner, and disappeared.

"Why aren't you sleeping?" He asked. Mush shrugged to himself.

"Dunno."

"You shouldn't be not sleepin' for so long. It ain't natural," Blink said, more to himself than anything else. Mush shrugged again.

"I just ain't."

"We should go get some a' that whiskey from Knipes again," Blink grinned. "Drink 'till we pass out, huh?"

Mush decided not to bring up the strange dreams he had dreamt that night. That one night. He grinned too, but the gesture was an effort, the smile falling from his face almost as immediately as it had come. The two sat in silence, Blink sucking at the end of his cigarette ponderously. Mush studied him out of the corner of his gritty eyes, watching the way his lips moved around the tip and the way they formed a perfect circle when they blew the smoke out into the air. He wanted to reach out and touch his friend's mouth, feel the salty wetness against his finger, the creases and curves on his lips...

"She's okay," Blink said finally. "I guess."

It took Mush a while to realize that he was talking about Adriana.

"Oh...you...you guess?"

"Well shore, I just...don't really like her, see?"

"Don't like her as much as some of the others?"

"I didn't really like _them _either," Blink snorted. It was meant to come off as funny, but the expression on his face was sad. "I haven't met my girl yet, Mush. Haven't met her yet."

Mush wasn't exactly sure what to say. It was just a few days ago that Blink was telling him that he never wanted to settle down with anyone. He studied his friend, watching the way he flicked the ash off the tip of his cigarette, casting it out on the breeze where it tossed and turned, gray and ashen as a corpse.

"I mean...kissin's all fine and good," Blink amended quickly, to the awkward silence. "But...I guess I gotta while until I gotta worry about love and shit, right?"

"Right," Mush said automatically.

"Man don't gotta settle down till he's a lot older," Blink said to himself, before kissing the end of the cigarette one last time and tossing it off the side of the building. They watched as the red tip glared in an arc, leaving a streak of fire burned on their eyes, before disappearing into the streets below.

"You ever gonna get yourself a girl, Mush?" Blink suddenly asked.

Mush felt his insides grow cold, icy almost. He was so sick of hearing about girls. He hated them. He turned to look at his friend, surprised to see that he was studying him just as hard.

"I don't want no girl, Blink," Mush said forcefully. True, more forcefully than he had ever spoken to Blink in their long years of friendship. "I just don't want no girl."

Blink tilted his head to one side, sucking in his top lip. The two of them regarded one another, and Mush felt himself sadden at the thought of how different they both were. Blink seemed to glow, everything he did was radiant and beautiful, and he was determined to spread that radiance. Girls saw it in him and loved him for it. Guys saw it in him and thought he was a real amiable fellow. And Mush slunk by in the background, cast in shadow from his friend's luster, dark and angry.

Girls saw that and loved it too, but they gave up rather quickly when he made it clear that he didn't love girls.

"Each to his own," Blink finally shrugged. "You don't _have_ to have a girl."

__

I have to have you. The words were there, in his mouth, burning to be spoken. He sucked both lips inwards, folding them over his teeth, and looked away, biting at the inside of his mouth. He was tired. He was dangerous. He needed sleep. Sighing, he spat in the dust by the chimney, as though that would somehow help.

Blink sighed and lay back, settling down and letting his gaze drift up to the heavens.

"It ain't as bad up here as you'd think," he remarked.

Silence passed between both of them as the snores of the boys began to drift upwards through the windows, and the heaviness of night settled in full overtop of the city. Mush's eyelids were flickering, and his body throbbed with his tired heartbeat. He didn't know how long he had been awake. The nights were blurred and the days were even worse. _Too long._

He turned so he was propped up against the chimney, and studied his friend. His eyes were closed, and his lips were parted slightly, letting the cooler wind slip into his throat. Not for the first time, Mush longingly traced the curves of his face with his eyes, wishing that he could know his friend by touch, and by taste. Wishing that he knew him inside out. He sighed, watching the way Blink's chest began to move slower and slower, hearing his breath grow raspier and faint snores escape his lips.

"I have to have you," Mush whispered.

Feeling almost delirious, he felt himself crawl forwards, rest his head against his friends warm, smoky smelling chest, and let his eyes flutter shut.

Mush slept for the first time in a week that night.

-o-

I'm giving in and doing shout-outs again. Nothing wrong with shout-outs.

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Student number...B. Just B. - Flattery will get you no where. Except...candy. -throws- And yes, I **am** fully aware that candy is not a location. But I started doing that crazy punctuation thing! Look! Look! It's beautiful! I'm thinking of prostituting this fic out, actually, making some money on the side. You can be my first customer! On the house!

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Queen Kez the Wicked - Oh my dear. Your review made me laaaaugh and laaaaaauuuugh...I'm SO GLAD I got you with the touching fingers. Hell, I got **me** with the touching fingers. And there I was, all alone in Summerland, with no boyfriend to take out my furious sexual tension on. Aye me, aye me, why is life so difficult? Mmkay, not six months, maybe...three. At the longest. I haven't been counting.

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i-nv-u50 - Heh heh heh. I have a fetish for angst newsies, I'm not through with the poor boy yet. Thanks so much for the review, it warmed the cockles of my heart. You gotta wonder how they came up with that a giggle-

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The Second Batgirl - BUA HA HA! SEXUAL TENSION FOR ALL! Seriously, it's all I live for now-a-days. Sexual tension. And doritoes, but that's another issue all together. Thanks for the review, it certainly does not fail to flatter.

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Two-Bits - I'm sure NOT FINISHED! BUA HA HA! Oh no, I have much more up my sleeve for those poor li'l newsboys. Don't worry, I certainly am going to be adding more. And if you like it that much by the third chapter, I can't lose! Thanks for the review, darling!

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Rumor - Ha ha. Yeah, I think if Mush actual engages in sexual activities with Blink, he'll explode. Honestly. Just right then and there. And...that would be really awkward. Thanks so much rumor. You are a god in reviewers clothing.

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Vampyress Suryna - Of course he had to jump up and run away! Can you imagine how insane I would have to be in order to give these two a happy ending to a chapter? Granted, this ending's kinda happy, but it's a fleeting happiness that will leave them as soon as the next chapter begins. Honest. It kicks off with a fist fight. Thanks, luv!

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Nakaia Aidan-Sun - Yo' wish is my command. -bows- have at! Thanks much for the review!


	5. four

**Chapter Four**

Mush woke up expecting Blink to be gone.

But he was not.

The oppressive heat from the summer seemed to have lifted, and the sweet morning coolness was all about them, playing softly over their skin in the open air. When Mush breathed in, he felt his blood freshen, felt his heart beat with new life, and felt his eyes flutter gently open. He could feel heat against the side of his face, and the toughness of the roof making the side of his body ache with stiffness. He was still lying on Blink's chest.

The soft, steady music of his friend's heartbeat seemed to be throbbing in time with his own, as he lay gently awake in the early, early morning. He felt his head rising and falling slowly as Blink snored lightly in his sleep, carried on his friend's firm chest. The clothes seemed fresher than usual, soft against his cheek, and he could feel, very faintly, the vibration of the blood through the skin.

He could hear no noises from the insides of the lodging house, could not hear the telltale footsteps of Kloppman climbing up the staircase or the grating snap of the old man's cane against the ground. There were no insults or jokes or mumblings, just a distant, humming silence. The city had not yet woken up; everything seemed serene and still, like a picture postcard.

_He had slept. _He felt as though weight had been lifted off his shoulders, felt as though he could walk a little lighter, that the world would agree with him. Though his eyes were still aching with exhaustion, they did not sting as mercilessly as they had done before, and his sight was clear. He was free. No longer trapped in that world of aches and pains and delusions, seeing dreams at every turn and unable to control his own mind.

As soon as the thought occurred to him, a sharp ache of hunger suddenly made itself known in his stomach. It was as though it had crept upon him and was just waiting for the right opportunity to strike. It made him feel almost nauseous, but joyful in the realization that he had not felt feelings as strong as hunger in a week. To try and discern when he had last eaten would be impossible, but he couldn't imagine it being recent.

And, over the bite of hunger, another feeling seemed to creep through his flesh, to make his eyes flutter shut once more and his heart pound a little faster in love and excitement. A feeling that made him want to tremble and laugh and bury his face into the curve between his friend's neck and shoulder...he had fallen asleep listening to Blink's heartbeat.

He hadn't realized how close they were the night before, he was too lost in a daze, too unconscious of what he had done. But in the wake of morning, every detail of their state seemed to rush at him all at once. They had slept next to one another. The thought made his heart beat wildly within his chest, and before he could begin to think about it, he had to sit up, slowly and achingly, lifting his face up to the clear, morning sky. If Blink woke up with Mush pressed up against him, clinging to him like some kind of lover, there would be no doubt that he would be quite unnerved by the situation. And Mush didn't want that.

Quietly, as to not wake his sleeping friend, he cast one last look down upon his friend's peaceful face, trying to savor the memory within his mind, imprinting it upon the back of his eyelids so he could see him when _he_ slept. The sun's rays, slanting gently over the rooftops, seemed to light up his face with an eerie glow that made Mush think, not for the first time, of angels.

Silently, he pushed himself to his feet, stretched, and made his way towards the fire escape.

-0-

Strangely enough, it was not the last time he would meet Blink up on the roof. Far from the last.

The following night, when he climbed up the fire escape to evade the rowdy laughter and biting jokes of the dorms, Blink was already there, waiting for him, sitting with his knees drawn loosely up to his chest, his arms wrapped limply round his shins. He was studying the night sky, the red tip of his cigarette standing out like a star of it's own hovering above his face.

"Siddown, pal," he had said, without even looking back. "Take a load off."

That night, they sat together and spoke, longer and in more detail than they had the previous night, shaping the pattern that the rest of the nights would take, peaceful and insightful. When they were together, under the jagged pattern of stars above their heads, it seemed that exhaustion was no longer an issue, and their day would vanish into naught but smoke behind them. Mush could never remember anything specific that they had talked about the next morning. It was as though their words were like alcohol. They enjoyed them at the time, but come the next morning, nothing could be salvaged from the conversation except a lingering sort of happiness at their togetherness, and the fact that in their chaotic world, they had the time to sit down and share a few words with the other.

But for Mush, there was a double layer to his happiness. When they were alone up on the roof, even if they were not touching, they were far away from women, and the streets, and the pubs and bars. They were far enough away for him to pretend that perhaps Blink loved him back, as strongly as he loved him. Perhaps Blink dreamed of him at night, across the room in a different bunk, wishing that he could be nearer to him, but too afraid to ask.

Mush began to look forwards to the night.

He began to look forwards to the time when he would climb up onto the roof and wait for his friend, or find Blink already there waiting for him, a cigarette between his lips, and a thoughtful look upon his face. How long they spoke to one another was immeasurable. They usually were out an hour or so past the time that the dorm rooms began to quiet down, and you could hear the snores louder than the conversation. And then at that point, as though by some unspoken agreement, they both stood and began to walk towards the fire escape, feeling their fatigue come back to them, and their desire for a bunk to crawl into, to fall onto the mattress and into their dreams.

As for Mush, he had begun to sleep again, but not as peacefully as he could have hoped for. Every other moment, he found himself sitting bolt upright in bed, as though someone had jerked him up by the collar, sweating, his breath pumping in and out of his lungs as though he had just run a mile. He was dreaming again, dreaming about Blink's skin and eyes, his hands, his flesh, his mouth. He was dreaming of the both of them, wrapped up in each other's embrace and kissing, their hands gently tracing the other's form, as though in memorization. The dreams scared him as much as they thrilled him, because they were as dangerous as an accidental oath slipping from his mouth in Blink's presence, or a double meaning in his words. They were dangerous thoughts that he had suppressed harshly in the light of day, thoughts that grew wild in the night, blooming into his dreams like lush, poisonous flowers. Dangerous flowers. Dangerous, dangerous, dangerous…he would wake up, clenching his fists, eyes shut tight, every muscle in his body tensed underneath the covers. Why were his thoughts working against him like this? Why didn't he have control over his body, his mind, his dreams?

It would take another fifteen minutes for him to settle down, and drift back to sleep, only to be overcome by yet another night-time fantasy, a fantasy about a boy who was sleeping only a room away, blissfully unaware of his friend's intentions.

However, Blink wasn't the only thing that Mush found himself dreaming about. Again and again, Beats and Johnny returned to his thoughts, dark angels on a street corner, stealing whiskey and rolling dice and playing cards and touching one another's hands, reciting one another's names like prayers in the darkness of the night. He dreamed of beautiful, blonde boys with watery blue eyes who sneered at him when he was caught looking. He dreamed of being surrounded by circles and circles of people, his body aching and his tongue sore from screaming. He dreamed of things that hardly made sense anymore, but never failed to frighten him. Because somehow, even though Beats and Johnny were near strangers to him, he knew that the danger that surrounded them was never too far from home. He knew that he was in danger. But he could not explain how.

-0-

Winter was coming. The boys could tell by the way the wind, once hailed as a blessing, carried a new, distinct bite to it. No longer was the wind coming off the Hudson river akin to a cooling kiss, but it felt more like a knife that slit through one's clothing and stung at the skin. Before Mush could even bid farewell to the summer of 1888, it seemed that the boys he passed were wearing scarves and jackets that they had dug out from underneath their beds, gloves appearing on their hands as though they had grown there, thicker socks sprouting out of their shoes. Mush could now sleep with the blanket pulled all the way up to his chest instead of crunched down at the foot of his bed, and the heat no longer kept him from sleep, it only bothered him slightly.

However, with the young tendency to never be satisfied, this only roused more complaining from the boys. Every time Mush passed a newsboy, he never failed to hear the same dark words in the accustomed, resigned tone.

"Winter's a-comin'."

Winter, of course, was a much harder season to get by than summer. During the summer, if a kid passed out from the heat, there was always a friend nearby to drag him indoors and wipe his face off with a cloth, give him a drink of water. Fan him with a newspaper or something. But in the winter, there was nothing. Everything was cold and frozen over, there were less and less people on the streets, and when there were, they were always bundled up tight in carriages, which you had to run after like a madman, waving a paper as though it was a white flag of surrender. And it was rare that anybody ever stopped.

It was for winter that the boys saved up a small stash of money, just in case. It was for winter that they kept stacks of warmer clothing piled under their mattresses, knowing that sooner or later they were going to need it. And it was winter that Mush was dreading. He did not want the summer to end.

It was a few weeks after his first meeting with Blink on the roof top that he saw the first brown leaves scraping the ground, looking like the handprints of Autumn shadowing the sunny cobblestone. The still shining sun made them glow a deep golden orange, alighting a fire of admiration within Mush's heart.

It was that same day that he saw Blink and Morris get into that fist fight.

When he arrived at the distribution center, he immediately saw that there was going to be trouble getting his first papers, something he had not counted on. For in the middle of the square was a tight, tight knot composed of what seemed like hundreds of stunted, adolescent bodies, emitting a series of hollering yells that made the muscles along his back tense, as though he was about to be hit. They were tightened into a thick circle, each of them pushing the other one forwards in order to get a better look at whatever was going on, the noise nearly deafening. Mush could see Weasel within the office ringing the morning bell furiously, trying to get their attention, while Oscar hovered behind him, shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbow, looking as though he was ready to dash off into the tight knoll of boys at the first sounds of an order from his uncle's mouth. Some of the newsies were making off with their papers in a hurry, eager not to get drawn into the conflict, but most of them were gathering around, trying to see over the heads of the older boys. What exactly was going on in the center, Mush could not see, but he could make a fairly accurate guess.

He shoved his money back into his pockets so it would not get knocked out of his hand, and moved towards the circle, ready to push his way to the front.

As he struggled closer and closer to the center, he could make out the sounds of feet scuffling over the cobblestone, and the grunts of two boys locked in combat. He struggled past an older boy in a stained, gray shirt, wondering who the perpetrators were this time, straining his eyes to see if he could catch a glimpse of them through the crowd. He thought he saw a flash of Oscar's face, drawn and pale with fury, and the back of some boy's head, an agile, light looking guy who was managing to dodge a lot of his opponent's swings…with a band tight 'round his head and his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows…

_Blink._

Feeling a queer twist in the pit of his stomach, he pushed his way forwards with determination, nearly knocking over one of the younger kids in his way, ignoring the oaths and cries of protest that followed him. He reached the center, his heart pounding furiously, and cast his eyes upon the scene. There, circling each other with frightening intensity like two tigers locked in combat, were Morris and Blink. Quickly, his eyes swept over his friend, taking in any injuries that he might have sustained. His patch was slightly lopsided, not enough to reveal his eye, but enough to allow a scrape dug harshly against his temple to shine in the sunlight. He had a light bruise up against his mouth, darkening his bottom lip which was slightly swollen, and a long, jagged rip down the sleeve of one shirt. But, Mush realized gratefully, there was no injury that had him bleeding badly, and he was still on his feet, looking fairly sure of himself as he dodged another one of Morris's jabs.

Morris himself looked livid, his face pale and white, bar the two angry red splotches that colored each cheekbone. He himself had a swollen eye and a good amount of dirt on his face and clothing, but it did little to hide the utter hatred coming from his gaze, focused on the lithe boy across from him.

"Give it to 'im, Blink!" Shouted a boy from beside Mush. "Knock 'im out!"

Blink muttered something across to his opponent, which was lost in the hollers from the boys around them, and Morris's mouth twisted into a sneer. Before Blink could move, he had shot across the circle and caught him with a swift uppercut to the jaw, making Blink's body arch upwards, as though he was throwing himself back against the crowd.

"Blink!" Mush screamed, his body convulsing, as though he was about to push through the boys in front of him and dash across the ring to his friend. The cry was lost amidst a long groan that swept across the circle, as the boys closest to him moved to push him forwards, slapping their palms against his back and yelling words of encouragement into his ear.

The hit had disoriented Blink, who staggered up again, hand pressed tight against his jaw, his lower lip sticky with blood from where his teeth had dug in against the flesh. Morris moved in to knock him once more, before he had regained his senses, but Blink clumsily dodged his attack, nearly stumbling and falling hard against the cobblestone as he did.

Mush had made up his mind. He began to move forwards again, grabbing at the shoulders of the kids in front of him in order to push them out of the way and move across the ring himself, when he felt a hand tight against his shoulder. He twisted his head around to see who had latched onto him, and saw Racetrack standing there, his face rather pale in the shadows of the other boys, his cap knocked slightly askew on his head.

"Stay out of it," he yelled at him, pulling him back, brows furrowing above his nose.

"Look at Morris! He's gonna bust his head open!" Mush retorted, furious, trying to pull away once more. Racetrack wasn't that strong. He could easily twist himself away from the pale Italian if he wanted to. Racetrack's fingers tightened against his shoulder, and he pulled him back harder.

"Keep out of it! Morris'll kill you!" Racetrack told him. Mush looked back to see Blink slam his fist into Morris' stomach, and watched as the older boy bent over double, fingers braiding themselves together over his abdomen, legs shaking slightly as though they could not hold his weight. Decisively, Blink brought his knee up and smashed it into the boy's face, missing his nose, but landing a hit hard against his swollen eye, making him howl in pain.

Blink looked as though he was clear and ready to follow it up with something, but he paused, studying the boy bent over in front of him, one hand tight against his stomach, the other blindly groping at his eye, barely able to take in a breath without the danger of collapsing. The yells around him grew louder, as the boys egged him on to deliver the final, decisive blow, but Blink did not move, lingering at the sight of his broken opponent.

But he did not linger long. After a few seconds that seemed to last an eternity for Mush, standing across the ring and watching his friend with his breath held in the back of his throat, Blink spat on the ground in front of Morris, turned his back on him, and began to walk away.

Mush felt the beginnings of a grin come to his face as he watched his friend's straight, proud back, watched as the boys before him began to push away, creating a pathway for him, as though he was Moses, parting the waters of the red sea. The noise around them was kicked up a notch, but Mush was hardly paying attention, pushing forwards to run to his friend, wanting to slap his hand across his back and hang off of him, wanting to feel the reassuring shape of his shoulders underneath his shirt and see his grin once more.

But before he could so much as move, Morris had straightened up. He had wiped a few drops of blood from his mouth. He was staring after Blink, with a livid look of hate upon his features. He was running towards him.

Blink seemed to sense this, heard the edge of surprise in some of the cheers, heard the footsteps against the ground. At any rate, he was halfway around with his fists already being drawn up to his chest when Morris hit him, one hand grabbing at his shoulder and shoving him backwards, the other fastening tight around his throat, choking off a strangled holler of surprise on Blink's lips. The two of them went down.

In a flash, Mush and Jack were on the two of them immediately, shoving the crowd back, grabbing at the two boys, screaming over the already tumultuous barrage of noise. As Mush flew in, he caught a glimpse of his friends surprised face, heard Morris yelling something that he couldn't make out, heard the slap of skin on skin, but he wasn't sure if it was Morris punching Blink, or Jack punching Morris, or one of the watching boys that had decided to get himself involved. All he was focused on was his friend, fighting to get up from the pavement, hands pressing against his attacker to keep him away.

In a moment, it seemed like it was over. Jack had jerked Morris away, yanking him to his feet and shoving him across the cobblestone, his movements colored with a barely reigned anger. And Mush had his hands tight around Blink's arms, helping him to his feet, holding his swaying, dizzy friend steady so he wouldn't topple over onto the ground. Blink was already pulling away, trying to take another run at Morris, but Mush fought his way through the crowd, keeping his grip on his friend tight, curling the dirty folds of his clothing tense between his fingers.

"Damn coward!" Blink yelled across the courtyard, his voice rough and nearly cracking with strain. Mush felt his ears begin to buzz slightly, and tightened his hands on his friend's arms, pulling him tighter against him. "You some kinda gutless wonder?" Blink screamed again, heedless of Mush's efforts to keep him back, pulling at his holds with all his might. "Hittin' at a fellow with his back turned?"

Morris yelled something back, but neither of them could make it out over the sound of the crowd. Mush glanced back, and saw Jack stepping menacingly towards the thug, yelling something at him, his words lost across the courtyard, as though they came from miles away.

They reached the gates, and Blink shook his arms free.

Before Mush could say a word, Blink had nearly shoved him aside as he turned past him and stalked out into the streets, the muscles along his back tense and angry, his hands balling into tight fists which he shoved into his pockets so hard the material stretched. Mush rubbed his shoulder ruefully, and hurried after, hearing the sounds of the upcoming fight fade. His ears were still buzzing as he chased after Blink, and his heart was pounding so loud, he was surprised that his friend couldn't hear it. Along the folds of his work worn clothes he could still feel the warm imprint of his back, where he had pressed against him during their struggle out the gates, his flesh hot and sweat stained.

"Blink!" Mush caught up to his friend and fell into step with him, still panting slightly from the scuffle. "What was that all about? What'cha doin' gettin' yourself involved in somethin' like that?"

"I _wasn't_ gettin' myself involved," Blink spat back, his voice colored with anger. "I just said somethin' to 'im, that's all."

"That's pickin' fights, that is," Mush argued, breaking into a jog as Blink outpaced him, his legs covering ground with amazing speed.

"I _wasn't_ pickin' fights," Blink snapped. "Wouldja lay offa me?"

"What didja say to him?" Mush pressed. His pulse was going a mile a minute as he tried to keep pace with his friend. Blink barely even glanced at him.

"I didn't say nothin' to him."

"Blink! What did you _say_?"

The insistency in his friend's voice seemed to deter Blink. He halted, letting out a long sigh, allowing Mush to catch up with him for a moment and let out an exhausted breath. Blink shook his head, before turning and slumping hard against the side of a building, digging into his pockets for his cigarettes. Mush watched as he pulled the crumpled pack from his pockets, slid one out, and crammed it between his lips, avoiding his friend's eyes.

"I asked him how Rosemary was doin'," he said finally.

Mush groaned.

Blink fumbled with the box for a moment, before shoving it deep into his pockets once more, and begun the search for a match. The cigarette bobbed up and down when he spoke.

"Shut it, Mush, I didn't think he'd jump all over me," he spat at his friend, pulling out a match and striking it roughly on the brick beside him. He pressed it to the tip of his cigarette, inhaling, making the tobacco flare to life, before shaking the match out and tossing it roughly beside him, where it lay curled and black on the cobblestone. "I talk shit about that all the time to 'im."

"Well, you _shouldn't,_" Mush retorted, leaning up against the building next to his friend. "He's a crazy, Blink, he's not right in the head about you an' Rosemary,"

"Bully for him," Blink said uncaringly, taking a deep drag and blowing the smoke out of his nostrils, where it evaporated into the air. Mush leaned his head back against the building, feeling the rough skin of the brick press past his curls and dig into his scalp. The affair between Blink and Rosemary, Morris' girlfriend at the time, was a widely known event between the Manhattan newsboys. Rosemary was the kind of girl that you sang ragtime about, calling her a "sweet, young thing", or perhaps a "young rose in bloom." She had beautiful blonde curls and the sweetest blue eyes that crinkled up at the corners when she laughed. No one could fathom why she would go out with Morris Delancey, the biggest scumbag on the block. But there it was.

However, Blink hadn't had a girl in a month, or at least that's what he was telling everyone in the lodging house. Mush vividly remembered walking along the outskirts of Central Park with him, where they spotted Rosemary walking down the street opposite them, carrying a basket of linen in her hands, humming a tune under her breath and skirting around the passerby's with the skill of an old New Yorker. Blink had motioned to her with his cigarette, one visible eye full of appreciation.

"That's her, Mushy-boy," he had told his friend, elbowing him hard in the ribs. "That's the one I want."

And, true to his nature, that was the one he set out to get. And he got in her in the space of a week. And, owing to the fact that the Manhattan newsboys had a hard time keeping their mouths shut when it came to the Delanceys, Morris knew about it only a few days after. The first thing he did was blacken Rosemary's eye for her. The second thing he did was hunt down Blink Krauske.

Blink was lucky. Morris, due to some unlucky timing, was never able to catch him alone. Some say that when Blink sensed the danger coming, he made sure that he was constantly with a thick group of newsies who all liked him, and would be willing to risk a couple bruises to help him out in a fist fight. Some say that he spent a lot more time in the lodging house, where Kloppman didn't allow strangers to come storming in without threatening to call the police from his desk. Either way, Blink had managed to avoid an explosive confrontation with Morris, and the thug had to settle for threatening words exchanged with the newspapers, and a few violent tussles in the streets.

Until that morning.

"Well, Jesus Christ, it happened a _year_ ago!" Blink protested, as Mush gave him a look out of the corner of his eye. "You'd think the big lug'd be over a thing like that!"

Mush shook his head. "It weren't a year ago, Blink, it was five months ago. Watch out for him."

"Watch _out_ for him!" Blink repeated, his voice higher than usual. "He'd better watch out for _me,_ that god damn coward. Didja see what he _did_ back there?"

Mush sighed and shook his head once more, pushing himself off the building. He and Blink had no papers, and there was a very slim chance that they'd be able to go back and buy some after what had happened. It felt as though half the day had already gone by when really, the city was just beginning to awake. Fighting off the heavy pit in his stomach, he clapped his friend on the shoulder and plastered on a smile.

"Comon," he said. "Let's take a break. You an' me. I'll buy you somethin' at Sal's, see?"

Blink nodded his assent. Together, the two of them stood and began to walk towards the direction of the Brooklyn bridge, falling into step with one another. Blink's face was still drawn tight into a frown, but he said nothing more, contenting himself with smoking his cigarette and shoving his hands deep into his pockets.

"So…whatever happened to Rosemary?" Mush finally asked. Blink shrugged.

"Damned if I know," he said, blowing out a cloud of smoke high, high above their heads.

-0-

"Do you believe in real love?" Blink asked that night on the roof.

Mush didn't answer.

Blink was calmly sucking on a cigarette, staring up at the night sky, tracing the constellations in his mind. Mush dug his heel hard into the cement of the roof, relishing in the grinding, grating noise it made. It was still hot up above the streets, even though fall was swiftly moving in, chilling the morning air and cooling down the hot, summer nights.

"I mean…real love, like fairy tale love," Blink continued, as though Mush's silence was simply confusion. "Y'know how the prince meets the princess and falls in love with her without even knowin' her name? I mean…do people exist like that?"

"You exist like that," Mush reminded him gently. Blink furrowed his eyebrows.

"Oh shooah, I like goils. But…how can you tell if you wanna spend the rest of your life with them with just a glance?"

Mush studied his friend out of the corner of his eye. The habit came naturally to him now, he was so used to stealing clandestine glances at him when he wasn't looking. Blink's eyes were fastened up on the stars, contemplative, colored with a hint of sadness.

"Maybe the prince just thought the princess was a real looker," Mush suggested. Blink chuckled.

"Yeah."

"Yeah."

The two boys sat in silence for a while. Mush chewed at the tip of his tongue, feeling the torn skin burn, tasting the slightly metallic flavor of blood on his teeth. For some reason, it calmed him, and he sat placidly beside his friend. Blink had a card in his hand, an eight of spades, which he was flipping contemplatively around his fingers, the flicking noise lulling Mush into a trace of sorts.

"Hey," Mush said suddenly. Blink continued flipping the card.

"Yeah, buddy?"

"Why Rosemary?"

Blink remained silent. Mush turned his head to look at his friend full on, and saw that he was now staring down at the card in his hand, his lips quirked to one side of his face in consideration. Slight guilt.

"I mean," Mush continued. "You could have yer pick of any girl out there, and you chose Morris' sweetheart. Why her?"

"I dunno," Blink said truthfully, the card coming to rest in his hand. He held it for a moment, gazing at it curiously, as though it was some sort of precious substance that he couldn't figure out. With a quick jerk of his hand, he flicked it aside, kicked out his legs and stretched himself out on the roof top, resting the back of his head on his hands. "I guess I just could," he continued. "I mean…if you _could_ do something, would you?"

"Did you _want_ to?" Mush pressed, twisting his head over his shoulder to catch his friend's expressin. Through the dark, he could just make out the outlines of his friend's face. "Did you really, really want to?"

"I don't really, really want to do anything, Mush," Blink said in a very final way. Mush twisted his head back around to stare out at the city. "I don't really, really want to do anything."

-0-

I meant to post this in time for Christmas, because I must admit, I have a special surprise for you guys. Or at least for the fans of the original work. But first, shout outs!

**The Second Batgirl: **Soon Blink will be Mush's? We'll have to see, won't we? I still have many, many tricks up my sleeve. Loves!

**Omni: **Hrm. First you'll have to move up to Canada. Gay marriage isn't legal in that heathen country of yours down South. . No offence intended, of course. I love you yanks like I love…grilled cheese sandwiches. And damn, do I love grilled cheese sandwiches.

**aLeX24: **AH HA! YES! I HAVE FINALLY CORRUPTED SOMEONE! -dances- Thanks so much for the review, it warmed me down to my toes. Which is saying something, because it's really, really cold here right now. I'm glad you enjoy it so much!

**Student number B: **-gasp- YES! Let's go to California. I really want to go to California right about now. It's so wet and rainy here, and down there there and chicks rollerblading in bikinis. Okay, maybe not during the winter, but I'm sure they're rollerblading around in parka bikinis. I would love to submit to the refuge! Do I have to wait until I complete it, or can I go chapter by chapter?

**LadyRach: **Yeah, I know. Kinda turning the tables, since during the movie, Blink can't really seem to step out of Mush's shadow, 'cuz he's so adorable. Awesome! I'm glad that I'm keeping you guessing. Thanks!

**Iambic Pentameter: **Ohh! Such flattery! You shall surely inflate my head to massive, dangerous proportions. Thanks so much, this gives me a huge ego boost. Oh, and for the record, I'm glad you enjoyed "The Accord". I always feel so guilty not giving out shout-outs for one-shots, so I'm combining two shout-outs here. Don't worry, it was supposed to be funny. I'm glad you got it.

**Nakaia Aidan-Sun: **You and your impossible-to-spell name. HA HA! Mushie-Wushie. That's great. Good luck on your homework, and thanks ever so much.

**Kid Blink's Dreamer: **Aww. Cute name. YOUR WISH IS MY COMMAND! -motions to chapter above-

**Two-Bits: **Ha ha! I always take forever to update, darling, always. Oh my god! I squirm when I like a story as well! Actually, I laugh a lot and tremble, but it's kinda like squirming. Sweet!

**BoomeRang: **ha ha ha! I'm glad I got your review, love, cheered me up immensely. All these comments are really not good for my ego. Thanks muchly!

-0-

Alright. Merry Christmas everyone, here's the surprise.

Now, I don't know how many of you remember the original "It Just Won't Quit." As a matter of fact, the original original **original **"It Just Won't Quit" was a one shot fic that I don't think I ever posted. However, the idea morphed into a multi-chaptered one, was taken down, rewritten, and transformed into the fic-in-progress it is today.

Although it was written a good two years ago, I still have all the old chapters from the original. You remember Skittery and Bumlet's escapade with the Christmas tree? And the mistletoe scene? And the kisses in the snow scene? And the part where Mush and Blink go down to Pearl street and watch the rich people celebrate Christmas? If you don't…this following surprise won't make any sense to you whatsoever. If you do…Merry Late Christmas, my darlings, Merry Late Christmas.

This was written just before I took the original one down. It's set to the tune of "Bohemian Rhapsody." Enjoy!

**The "It Just Won't Quit" Rhapsody**

**Mush**: Is this the real life, or is this just fantasy?  
Knowing the author, it could just be another dream…  
Open my eyes, look up to the skies and see…

**Blink:** I'm still a straight boy, no chance you'll get with me…

**Misprint**: Well, well, well, we'll see to that  
You can't hide, Blink, it's a slash

**Blink**: Eleanor on my mind, for dramatic irony…

**Misprint**: Next scene…

**Mush**: Winter …rolling in the snow…  
My mind is filled with bliss…wonder if he'd like a kiss…  
Blink…his face so close to me…  
Sudden disregard forsexual conformity…  
So close…ooh…  
Butbefore I make a move,I roll off for no apparent reason

**Readers:** Burn in hell, burn in hell…

**Misprint**: Just wait till next chapter…

**Blink:** Pearl street…walkin' in the snow…

**Mush**: I'm leaning 'gainst his side

**Blink:** I'm pretending it's alright

**Mush**: Flirting imperceptibly

**Blink**: As the scene goes on we get more cuddly…

**Skittery:** Mister…ooh…  
Tell muddah dat her son,  
Is sorry he's leaving her with RUN!

**Readers**: Just when we thought they had finally got together

**Mush**: it's a dream, it's a dream…

**Misprint**: Fearing for my well being…

**Readers:** Our moods are turning foul  
We're going to disembowel  
You!

**Eleanor**: Everyone hates me!

**Mush**: I want hot man sex…

**Eleanor:** Everyone hates me!

**Mush**: I want hot man sex!

**Both:** There's nothing left to do but whine…

**Misprint**: Must write next scene!

**Mush**: Scene!

**Blink**: Scene!

**Readers**: Scene!

**Mush:** I'm just a poor boy, Blink doesn't love me

**Newsies:** He's just a poor boy, with an abnormality  
Spare him his life from this angst writing spree!

**Mush**: I come in, out Blink goes  
Under mistletoe…

**Skittery**: Kiss Mush, Blink

**Blink:** No! Must try to remain straight…

**Mush:** He's so hot!

**Newsies**: Kiss Mush, Blink.

**Blink**: Must try to remain straight…

**Mush:** I cannot!

**Newsies and Readers: **Kiss Mush, Blink.

**Blink:** I must remain straight…

**Mush**: Oh my god!

**Blink:** I must remain straight…

**Mush**: Oh my god!

**Blink:** Turn and run away…

**Readers**: Oh damn it!

**Newsies:** OHHHHHH! Oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh!

**Racetrack**: Oh mama mia! I'm Italian!

**Newsies: **Mama mia! Skittery knows.

**Readers:** What happens next?  
Is it hot man sex?  
Oh please…  
Oh please…  
Oh _please_!

**Misprint:** I just realised how much I'm in need of a plot..  
So I'm going to end this and take it right off…

**Mush**: Whoa baby!  
Didn't get my Blink!Lady…

**Blink:** Surprised I got out…  
Surprised I got out…  
Surprised I got out of here straight…

**Mush:** Nothing really matters…  
All my angst and pain…  
Nothing really matters…  
'Cause she rewrote it anyway…

-fin-

Enjoy your holidays!


	6. five

As the days passed, the sticky summer heat seemed to fade from the sidewalks, bringing a new, chilling bite to the air that mos

**It Just Won't Quit  
Chapter Five**

As the days passed, the sticky summer heat seemed to fade from the sidewalks, bringing a new, chilling bite to the air that most resented. Mush could feel it up on the roof top with Blink, a needling, icy sensation that blew in off the East River, carrying with it the smells of blood, garbage and salt. Blink smoked more, bringing his legs closer to him to keep warm, and every once in a while, he'd reach over and wrap an arm around his friend, rubbing his hand hard against his shoulder to restore the circulation. At those times, Mush tried hard not to think about that night at Medda's, when he and Blink had touched. He tried to forget. He knew that Blink, on no uncertain terms, had forgotten as easily as the day slipped into the dark night.

The days were easier. Mush, no longer delirious, didn't need Blink's help when it came to selling, so Blink usually high tailed it down Greenwich Village where there were less people, but less newsies. Then, if there was time, he'd catch the El down to Harlem and visit his girl. Mush, aimless, would usually seek out Racetrack, and the two of them would play at poker until one of them was broke. Sometimes they even went out on the town, just walking until their feet felt like they would give out from underneath them.

However, night after night, Blink never failed to meet Mush up on the roof and share a cigarette or two, words if they had them. Mush felt more alive during the night than he ever felt during the day.

Until that one day, near the end of October, where he suddenly found himself jolted out of his dreams and into reality.

It was one of the few days that Mush had actually beaten Blink up to the roof, and was waiting for him. Selling had been easier that day than most, and he found that in the space of four hours he had no more papers. He had bypassed Tibby's, full to the brim with newsies as it always was, his stomach still feeling full from that coffee he had drank that morning. Blink was nowhere in sight. Nor was Racetrack. Without a thing else to do, Mush had climbed up onto the roof of the lodging house and enjoyed the warm sunshine that the last few hours of the day had to offer.

The same sun was now setting over the roof tops of Manhattan as Mush leaned back against the warm chimney. The slow, lazy day time sounds were beginning to be swallowed up by the darker night time sounds, the laughter of women, the trill of Vaudeville from the shabby theaters, the drunken brawls that erupted up and down the streets like diseases. The older newsies, who were not worn out from a day of selling, began to spill out the front steps, jumping barrels and joking with one another as they set off to find their own, night time adventures. Mush let his head loll back against the brick, wishing that he was capable of dozing off for just a few seconds. He could certainly use the sleep.

The truth was, even though Mush was sleeping once more, he never _really_ slept. Just watched dangerous dreams play out on the inside of his eyelids. He was never too far from waking during the nights, afraid a stray, damning word would escape his lips for everyone to hear. He glanced at the skyline once more to see that the sun had disappeared completely, leaving only streaks of pinks and oranges in it's wake, burning over the silhouette of the rooftops and factories. It's beauty was lost on Mush. He frowned, glancing over at the fire escape, wondering where Blink was. He was usually up before the last of the sunset faded from the sky, leaving only the stars and moon to contend with. However, just as the thoughts crossed his mind, he heard sudden, crashing footsteps echoing in the building below him, followed by the slam of a door and the unmistakable sound of Blink's voice, shooting up through the roof to his ears.

"Where the hell is that no good son of a bitch?"

Mush's whole body tensed, as though someone had pressed a red hot wire to him and immobilized every muscle in his body. Blink was back. Before he could even think, he was across the roof, down the ladder, and swinging himself towards the window. His heart was pounding hard in his chest and his mouth was as dry as cotton. Blink was back, but it didn't sound like he was going to head up to the roof for a smoke. Mush pressed himself up against the wall beside the window, feeling his heart rattle his bones with an incessant throb. A babble of voices had broken out, Blink's the loudest over all of them.

"I'm gonna kill that bastard," Mush heard him growl. "I'm gonna tear him limb from limb." Mush thought briefly of their hands touching at Irving Hall, of whispers, of rumors echoing through the streets. His heart seemed to seize up in his chest, and he thought for a moment that he was choking, or falling, that something was clawing desperately at the inside of his chest, trying to get out. Did Blink know? Had he guessed? Had someone told him?

Mush tried to quiet his breathing. He couldn't have possibly guessed, and no one knew to tell him. Mush had told no one. Taking his courage into both hands, he stepped in front of the window and shoved it open. Most of the boys were gathered around Blink, and only a few glanced back to see him crawl into the room. The heat enveloped him, making tiny beads of sweat break out along his hands and forehead. Moving as quickly and as calmly as he could, he shoved the window back into place and glanced up at Blink once more, who had pushed his way across the room and disappeared into the bathroom. Mush could hear him hitting the stalls as he went by, the doors swinging wildly and banging against the walls.

"He's lookin' for Racetrack," a voice said in his ear. Mush turned to see Skittery leaning up against the wall beside him, looking morose as usual. The boy seemed unassailable at times.

"Racetrack?" Mush managed, his voice bordering on the edge of a squeak. "What did 'e do?"

"Beats me," Skittery shrugged, as a particularily loud bang came from within the washroom. Mush jumped slightly, before glancing around once and taking off after Blink.

Mush caught a glimpse of the stall doors swinging wildly before he was nearly bowled over by his friend who was already on his way out, his search fruitless. Acting quickly, Mush grabbed him around the shoulders and swung him to a halt, fingers digging into the tight muscle, heart pounding frantically in his chest.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Mush said quickly as Blink tried to shake him off and continue on his way out. "Hold it, hold it…"

"Lemme go, Mush," Blink ordered, turning to him and shooting him a ferocious look. Mush tightened his grip and glanced up at his friend's face. A vicious bruise was darkening on his temple, standing out dark red against the tanned gold of his skin. Mush, still keeping a tight hold on his friends arms, gaped up at the injury which was so dark, he almost felt it's ache himself.

"Holy shit, Blink, what happened?" He found himself asking.

"You see this?" Blink asked, wrenching one arm free and pointing at it. His finger was shaking slightly, but whether it was out of nerves or anger, Mush didn't know. "You see it?"

"Yeah, yeah, I see it," Mush said quickly, trying to assuage his friend's rage.

"Yeah? You know who _gave_ this to me?" Blink said, jabbing his finger at the bruise once more. Mush could hear the voices from the other room growing louder, and caught a glimpse of a few faces peeking into the washroom behind Blink. Mush looked back to his friend and shook his head.

"The Devlin gang," Blink said, dropping his hand and cocking his head to one side. Mush's eyes widened.

"What?"

"You heard me," Blink nearly yelled, twisting out of Mush's grip. "They was looking for Racetrack. They found me."

"_What_?" Mush repeated, but Blink had already whirled around and was storming out of the washroom, leaving Mush standing alone with his mouth open in a gape. The Devlin Gang? Mush always tried to stay out of the way of any gang, but he knew well enough the type of things that the Devlin Gang did to people. He heard Blink stomping through the dorm, and the way the voices of the newsies seemed to leap about him, rising in pitch.

"He's with his girl, Blink!" He heard a voice yell. "He just left with his girl!" He heard the dorm room door slam shut, so hard the building seemed to shake in it's foundation. Cursing under his breath, Mush broke into a run after his friend.

"Blink!" He yelled, smashing out of the dorm room and seeing his friend's tall, straight back descending down the creaky stairs. "Hold it!"

"Stay out of it, Mush!" Blink yelled over his shoulder as Mush crashed down the stairs, footsteps echoing through the building. He reached out to try and grab hold of Blink's arm, but Blink shook him off as easily as shaking off an insect. Unrestrained, he hit the ground floor and crashed out the front door, Mush hot on his heels, the yells of Kloppman chasing after them and dying in the air.

Blink hit the pavement hard, and quickly glanced around him. He wasn't disappointed. Less than a block away, Racetrack was walking arm in arm with a girl, his trademark laugh echoing down the street, as clear and unmistakable as his own face. Before Mush could grab a hold of him, Blink shot off after the two of them, leaving Mush with nothing to do but chase after him.

"Blink!" Mush yelled, but Blink had already caught up to Race and had one hand on his shoulder. Effortlessly, he jerked him around like a rag doll and pulled his fist up. The girl he was with let out a frightened yelp and backed away, hair flying in her face, hands coming up to press against her mouth in surprise.

"Whoa!" Racetrack yelled, throwing both hands up high. "Easy!" Mush rushed forwards to restrain Blink, but in a matter of seconds, Blink had hauled off and punched him square in the jaw, making the Italian boy let out a harsh cry that Mush had never heard from him before. The girl let out a muffled cry from between her two fingers, her body jerking as though she longed to run towards him but was too frightened to do so. Mush gritted his teeth and grabbed Blink around the chest, hauling him backwards, feeling his friend's heart pounding wildly against the insides of his arms, just as fast as his own pulse throbbing in his wrists. Blink immediately began to struggle against his friend, wrapping his fingers around Mush's wrists and pulling to no avail.

Racetrack had straightened and was clutching his jaw, staring at Blink, his coffee colored eyes wide and disbelieving. The girl had moved towards him, but he held out one hand, stopping her in her tracks. She paused, eyes wide and frightened in the darkness of the evening.

"Jesus, Blink!" Racetrack yelled, rubbing hard at his jaw. "What do you think yer doin'?"

"Son of a bitch!" Blink spat at him, still struggling like a trapped animal in Mush's grip. Mush felt his friend's elbow slam into his upper arm and set his teeth hard against the pain.

"The hell's the matter with you!" Racetrack yelled back. Mush could feel Blink's body convulse.

"What's the matter with me?" Blink retorted, his voice cracking. "What's the matter with _you, _you damn coward!"

"Coward?" Racetrack spat. "What are ya talking about? Yer outta yer mind!"

At that, Blink managed to twist around and shove one elbow firmly into Mush's stomach. All of his breath seemed to suck itself out of his body and explode against the back of Blink's neck as a nauseating pain burned itself through his torso. He felt his grip loosening and in that one instant Blink broke free, shoving his friend's arms away and lunging at Racetrack. Mush groaned and clutched at his stomach, feeling his lungs working furiously for air as he bent double, head spinning. He had always taken Blink's fight stories with a grain of salt, but it seemed that all of a sudden, Blink had been telling the truth all along. He sure knew how to hit a guy.

His stomach still throbbing painfully, Mush lifted his head and forced himself to open his eyes. His vision was slightly blurred, but he could make out the two of them standing stock still. Blink had a finger shoved threatening in Racetrack's face, and was leveling a look at him that Mush had seen him shoot at Morris when they fought. A cold, icy blue glare that seemed to drill you right down the middle. Weakly, Mush coughed, feeling his stomach contract as though he would throw up.

"You said you paid the Devlin gang back the other day," Blink was saying.

"I _did_!"

"No! No you _didn't_!" Blink yelled. "You didn't, 'cuz you know why?"

"Blink, back off, a'right?"

"They came after _me_ today with a fucking pipe!"

Racetrack's eyes widened slightly as he stared at Blink in total disbelief.

"But…but…"

"Their way of passing along a message," Blink spat. "A message they told me that I had better deliver, or else I'll get worse next time. So I'm deliverin' it." He made out to punch Race one more time, tightening his hand into a fist and pulling his arm back in a jerky, elastic move, but Racetrack's girl screamed and clutched at him, digging her nails into his arm hard. Mush coughed once more, feeling the ground spin beneath him. A few seconds passed, seconds that seemed to encompass eternity. Finally, Blink dropped his arm and stepped back, shoving his fist hard into his pocket and pointing a steady finger at Racetrack, his mouth curled into a sneer.

"You're lucky," he said, "that your girls' with you. 'Cuz I don't start no fights in front a' girls, see?"

Racetrack nodded once. Mush managed to push himself up straight again, one hand still clutching his stomach rubbing at the burning heat that had sprung up inside. He placed one hand steadily on Blink's elbow.

"Blink," he said softly, feeling his throat burn. "C'mon, Blink, let's just go."

Blink barely moved for a moment, before reaching back with one arm and patting Mush hard on the back. Mush coughed once more, feeling his stomach tighten and his eyes water slightly underneath his eyelids.

"You're also lucky," Blink continued, "that Mush here's got a better head on his shoulders than I do."

With that, Blink grabbed at Mush's arm and pulled him past Race towards the lodging house alleyway. Towards the fire escape that crawled up the side of the building to the safe haven of the roof, a place that Mush had been waiting at just moments before. Feeling suddenly exhausted, he allowed Blink to tow him towards the fire escape and followed suit when Blink began to hoist himself up the ladder. His stomach was still burning from where Blink's elbow had punched into the flesh, and it made his nerves feel weak and shaky. Blink, however, seemed to be fuelled by rage, and was not slowing down for anybody, let alone his best friend. Mush gritted his teeth and continued climbing up after him.

When the two of them had finally clambered over the side of the roof, Blink didn't wait a moment to jerk a cigarette out from his pocket and shove it in between his lips.

"Can you believe it?" Blink snapped at Mush as he struck a match hard against the chimney. Vaguely, Mush remembered Kloppman's warning about fire in the lodging house, but was too busy massaging his aching muscles to follow that train of thought. "Can you _believe_ it?"

"Calm down, Blink," Mush said hoarsely, leaning against the chimney and slowly sliding down into a sitting position. He kicked his legs out in front of him and took a deep breath, feeling the burn slowly subsiding in his torso.

"Calm down? _Calm down?_ Jesus Christ, I can't believe he lied to me about paying 'um back. Jesus Christ." Blink angrily drew breath through his cigarette, pacing back and forth, only stopping once in a while to let a plume of smoke out into the cooling night air, or kick at the roof top with anger coloring his movements. Mush simply sat and waited. He had found that with Blink, the only way to get results was to ride the storm out and wait for him to slowly come around.

True enough, after a few more moments of him cursing out Racetrack, the Devlin Gang, and God Almighty for bringing him into this world, he sank into a slouch next to his friend, his cigarette smoked clean down to the butt. His breath started to come out easier after a few moments, and even when the cigarette went out, he still chewed contemplatively at the end, staring stonily out into the city.

"God damn," he said finally. "I really soaked that bastard good, didn't I?"

Mush winced slightly and rubbed at his stomach. "Soaked me good while you were at it."

"Yeah, well didn't I tell you to stay out of it?" Blink retorted. Mush didn't say anything. After a few moments, Blink spat out his cigarette and let out a sigh. "Alright, Mush, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. You're my best friend, but you just don't know when to quit, y'know."

"Yeah," Mush said absently. His stomach still hurt, but his face warmed slightly when Blink called him his best friend. Any crumb of affection thrown his way he would gladly lap up. "And you did soak him good," he added with a small grin.

"Ahh, maybe I shouldn't've," Blink said ruefully. "I shouldn't have to be on the damn kid's back trynna get him to pay his debts all the time." He reached into his pocket for another cigarette, but didn't light this one right away, just held it in his fingertips and tapped it against his knee. "But Jesus, if he'd just paid 'um back like he said he had I wouldn't have had my head split open like a fuckin' egg."

"It ain't split open," Mush countered. Blink snorted.

"Shooah feels like it is."

"Well it ain't."

The two of them sat together in silence for a moment. Blink finally lit the cigarette and took a deep drag. Mush could almost see his nerves begin to uncoil underneath his skin. He sighed and leaned harder against the chimney, listening to his friend quietly smoke and think beside him. Race and his girl had probably beat it by now, gone off to wherever they were going. Blink let out a ragged sigh that brought Mush out of his thoughts. He turned and looked at his friend, who was staring out over the city with a closed, defensive look.

"Jesus," Blink said softly. His voice was as rough as the bricks Mush leaned against. "I was scared."

Mush shifted slightly. His friend barely even noticed, just took another hard drag of his cigarette and blew the smoke out in a thin stream. Mush didn't dare speak a word, he knew if he did Blink would clam up and drop the whole thing as easily as a hot potato.

"I was just mindin' me own business," he continued, his face strangely pale in the night. "When I saw all a' them thugs comin' at me. They asked if I went by the name a Kid Blink…and I said yes. That's when they grabbed hold a' me." He shook his head and let it drop, his hair swinging forwards and covering up his eyes. Mush hardly dared to breathe.

"I thought I was a dead man, Mush," Blink said roughly. Softly. "I really thought I was gonna die."

Mush felt his heart nearly rip in two at the words his friend was speaking. Mush had known him to be angry, irate, bitter, and rueful. But not once in his entire life had he known Kid Blink, his mentor, his best friend, to be scared. And now here he was, sitting beside him with a cigarette, completely open and vulnerable. Open to Mush. Mush took a slow breath in, realizing how much it must be costing his friend to say those words to him.

His eyes traced the outline of Blink's hand, resting tensely on his knee. How easy it would be just to reach out and lace his fingers through his friend's, rub the inside of his palm with his thumb, stroke his strong wrist until the brittle tendons underneath his skin eased. Mush longed to feel his friend's hand underneath his own once more, even though the first time had nearly cost him his sanity. Shaking the thought from his head, he reached over and laid his hand heavily on his friend's shoulder instead. As gently as he could, he curled his fingers into the nerves, coaxing the tension out of them as skillfully as he could.

Blink laughed briefly, a laugh that was more for show than anything else. He looked up at his friend, and Mush's breath nearly died in his throat at his gaze. That pure blue shocked him straight to the core, as it always did. Heavenly, angelic blue. Blink grinned, and covered Mush's hand with his own, squeezing it briefly.

"Thanks, buddy," he said roughly. Mush nodded, unwilling to pull his hand away. The warmth from Blink's calloused, hardened palm was licking up his arms in dangerous flames, making his heart quicken in his chest, his pulse race hard in his wrists. Blink turned his head away and let go, his fingers brushing down the back of Mush's hand they both pulled away. Mush felt as though hot claws had raked down his skin. He let out a quiet, hard breath, feeling the sweat break out along his forehead once more. How could he try and forget this undeniable heat when every time he and Blink touched, his blood seemed to boil inside his veins? How could Blink not notice?

"Hey," Blink said suddenly, reaching out and taking Mush's wrist in his hand. Mush almost jumped out of his skin as he jerked his head around. His friend was staring at him once more, the blueness of his eye making Mush's hair stand on end, his mouth tingle with a strong, hard ache. To his surprise, Blink leaned in slightly, tilting his head forwards and staring up at Mush through the curtain of hair that fell over his forehead. Mush let out a long, slow breath, feeling it rip through his lungs and up his burning throat. Every nerve in his body wanted him to lean forwards and capture Blink's mouth in his own, speak into his mouth the words that he had kept trapped inside for so long. Every nerve in his body wanted Blink to kiss him back.

Blink's lips parted, and Mush found his eyes riveted on them, unable to look away. Blink's hand was warm on his wrist, and even though his body felt numb, he thought he felt his friend's thumb move across his skin in a slow and deliberate stroke. But the movement was over before it even happened, and Blink was smiling at him.

"You tell anyone I'm a coward, and I break your neck, hear?" He said, raising his eyebrows. Mush felt his heart break for the second time that night. He forced a smile to his lips.

"I hear."

-0-

_Thirty seconds after Beats had hoisted the crate into his work torn arms, he could feel his blood running numb through his fingers. Even though he was loading the same freight he had been loading for the past year, it suddenly felt insufferably heavy._

_Young muscles straining, he bent backwards to relieve some of the pressure on his hands, and staggered forwards, hoping that his footing was surer than he felt. If he started dropping freight all around the warehouse, no doubt he'd end up in trouble. Or, if his boss was in a particularily bad mood, under the back of his hand once more. His scant pay was spent solely on the cheapest food he could find for him and Johnny, and would not be able to stand a docking. As it had turned out, the working life hadn't been kind to Beats. Life in general hadn't been kind to Beats._

_But that was the way it was._

_Letting out a long breath, he stacked the box on top of the others and let his arms dangle, lifeless, by his sides, the blood running down to the tips of his fingers and making them tingle._

_"Hey! Beats!" A kid yelled, kicking at his leg as he came by with his own crate. "Get the lead out, will ya? Don't perticularily feel like havin' me pay docked because a one lousy bum…"_

_Beats didn't say anything. He just turned and grabbed another crate, hoisting it up against his chest and trying to ignore how it bit into yesterday's wounds._

_But when he turned to move towards the dock, it was no longer there. Instead there was a house, plain, brownstone, a few blocks away from where he was supposed to be. He hefted the box in his hands, which was getting too heavy, feeling panic beat it's wings against the inside of his chest. He was going to get in even more trouble now, this was almost a different neighborhood entirely, and his boss would think theft, for sure. But also a different sort of panic, the one that grabbed hold of him long ago and had not yet relinquished it's grip. _

_Teach you. For looking at me. _

_A hand snapped down the back of his neck._

Mush's eyes flew open.

He had fallen asleep. Letting out a long breath that seemed to pull from the deepest of his insides, he turned his head slightly to see Blink at rest, still propped up against the chimney, mouth hanging open at the awkward angle. His heart was still pounding inside his chest, so loud he was surprised that Blink could sleep like that, unaware, while his friend drowned beside him in fear.

Feeling the terror begin to edge it's way from his body, he let out another long breath, turning his gaze out over the black city. He couldn't tell the hour, couldn't even see the faint kiss of sunrise over the city skyline.

"Blink," he whispered, cotton-mouthed. "Blink, geddup."

Blink let out a noise that reminded Mush of a child, and instead shifted slightly, so his bruised temple brushed Mush's shoulder. Mush closed his eyes.

"Blink," he managed, a bit louder, his heart slowing by degrees. "Wake up, buddy. We gotta go back downstairs."

"Lemme sleep," Blink murmured, mouth dry.

"Naw, come on."

"Shit, Mush, why you gotta…"

The edges of the dream were still tugging at his mind, but Mush pointedly pushed it and all other thoughts away as he slipped an arm under Blink's shoulder blades and pulled him to his feet, knees unsteady with sleep, muscles still bloodless and tired. Blink's heavy head landed on his shoulder, and slowly, the two began making their way towards the ladder in the black.

"I'm up," Blink murmured. Mush felt the vibrations of his voice carry through his chest, rattle his heart like a drum.

"You don't sound up, buddy," he grinned.

"You're a good friend, Mush."

"Yeah?" Mush's grin widened just slightly. "Well, thanks."

Blink pulled himself up on his own two feet and shook his head quickly from side to side, as though to clear the moment away, out of the air, dissipating like cigarette smoke. Mush felt the warmth of his side fade, as Blink's body moved farther away from his, and he was reminded, once again, as a cold breeze skimmed the roof top that he could no longer count on summer's warmth during their night time visits. Blink didn't look up at him as he began scaling down the ladder, breath slow and sleepy, descending first and leaving Mush, as always, to follow.

-0-


	7. six

It Just Won't Quit

**AN: **Apologies, but I messed around with the last chapter, as I've changed the plot by degrees. Again. Thanks for putting up with me.

**It Just Won't Quit**

**Chapter Six**

Racetrack's presence became reduced in their lives after the incident. Blink was short with the boy whenever they had to interact, and Racetrack's wounded, indignant tone made Mush both annoyed and sympathetic by turns. Although the sight of the slowly fading bruise that darkened Blink's temple made his heart give an involuntary bump of anger, he couldn't ignore the way Racetrack's lip hitched at Blink's abrupt goodbyes and harsh words. When Mush tried to reason with Blink, pointing out that Racetrack could not possibly have known that the Devlin gang would have come after his friends as well as him, Blink always shook his head, a glint of steel returning to his blue eye.

"Shouldn't be playin' around with gang money in the firs' place," he would always say, and Mush, he always found, was inclined to agree. Though he knew Blink's attitude wouldn't last for long and would have to be ridden out with patience, just like his temper, he saw no reason to push the issue. A few nights later, when Blink was feeling restless and wanted to pool some funds for a bottle of whiskey, Jack Kelly, the new kid, was the one who tagged along with them instead of Racetrack, whom they left sitting alone on his bunk with his cards spread out before him in a messy game of solitaire.

"So we going to Knipes?" Mush asked Blink in an undertone as they clattered down the stairs, Blink in the lead.

"Naw," Blink scoffed. "Only way we can afford to drink that shit is like we did las' summer, you remember Mush?"

Jack looked up at the back of Blink's head but said nothing as they hit the lobby floor and were immediately reminded by Kloppman of the curfew.

"Yes sir," Jack tossed over his shoulder as they pushed through the door. Blink laughed.

"Yes sir," he repeated as the door slammed shut behind him. "Ain't you a gennlemen."

"What?" Jack said, brow furrowing. "'Cuz I know manners?"

"Ooh," Blink hooked his thumbs in his suspenders, fanning out his fingers with a laugh. "And where'd you learn them pretty manners, Kelly? Out West where you got your hat?"

"He's just kiddin'," Mush said apologetically over his shoulder. Jack just shrugged, glancing past Blink at the tenements that lined the slum they were traveling deeper and deeper into. Mush's eyes followed his, and caught on the narrow slats of light that were the windows, the golden lamplight finding it's way through chinks in the curtains and shining like beacons in the night. It wasn't late enough for the youths inside to be out, but he could picture the girls at their dressing mirrors, the boys shining their shoes if they had anything worth shining.

"We'll probably hit up McGilligans firs' is what I'm thinkin'," Blink said after a moment to Mush, knocking his wrist with a few knuckles, a jab that made Mush's heart speed. "He don't care how old you is, and it's cheap." Mush opened his mouth to reply, but Jack spoke first, beating him to the quick.

"You want cheap, McGilligans is the fuckin' Rockefeller compared to a place I know."

"That so?" Blink raised on eyebrow, shooting Mush a look that made him bite back a grin. "Where's that, Kelly, bottle alley?"

"Funny, ain'tcha," Jack sneered. "Naw, there's these fellows on 125th Street that makes their own, s'about ten times as strong as what you get at McGilligans, or even Knipes."

Blink opened his mouth to say something, but then shut it again. Mush raised his eyebrows, wary, but impressed.

"How much?" he asked, thinking of next day's meal.

"Depends," and Jack swaggered slightly beside them, shooting over a cocky grin. "If I do the talkin', nuthin'."

"Ooh, big man," Blink said, but he was smiling, and not unkindly. "Where you say these kids is?"

"125th street," Jack said, raising his eyebrows. Blink thought for a moment.

"East?"

"Yeah."

"You mean the negro tenements?"

"Yeah, I do," Jack said, licking his lips. "Catch the El, it'll take us ten, twenny minutes to get up there."

"Shit," Blink turned and grinned at Mush. "Whaddaya say?"

Mush, who had been watching Blink and listening with only half a heart, smiled and shrugged.

-0-

Jack was not as vivacious a roaming partner to have around as Racetrack had been. Narrow and intense, Mush and Blink spent a lot less time rolling their eyes at one another and a lot more carefully scrounging up the crumbs of information that he threw their way.

"So what," Blink started, scrounging around in his pockets for the required nickel as they jogged up the steps to the Prince Street station. Ahead, Mush heard the roar of the train pulling up to the platform, the bone-shaking rumble of it that made his stomach feel tight and nervous. Jack took the lead, eyes darting about the platform as they arrived, tongue lightly moistening his top lip. "You just happen to know these kids? When didja meet 'em?"

"Around," Jack said absently, eyes somewhere else.

"Oh yeah?" Blink shot a grin at Mush. "Around?"

"Yeah, around," Jack said, eyebrows furrowing slightly. "You got a hearin' problem or something?"

"Naw," Blink said, digging into his pocket and handing Mush another nickel without even having to ask. Mush thought briefly about protesting, but remembered Blink's trick with the papers in the back of the distribution center and instead folded the coin into his palm, which was already sweaty. His trips up to Harlem were few and far between, and he had never been to the negro tenements before. Jack was moving too fast for him to speak though, and before he knew it, he had exchanged Blink's nickel for a yellow slip of paper, and they were on the train.

Mush looked around, eyebrows raised. The noise and the sharp smell of the oil clouded his senses, and Jack's distracted edge made him nervous. Pressing his lips together and trying to ignore the odor, he focused around the compartment they were in. The wood floors were dark with marks and prints, and the edges of the windows were almost too dirty to see through, though he could make out the buildings across the street and, if he squinted, figures moving inside of them. The compartment began to fill up as more people, mostly men, stepped in, removing their hats and clearing their throats. He felt dirty and poor around them, and he self consciously rubbed at his nose with his palm, avoiding their eyes and instead focusing on their hands, their shoes, their shabby but pressed and cleaned clothing.

He turned to speak to Blink, but his friend was already talking to Jack in an undertone. Mush felt jealousy gnawing slightly at his stomach as Blink grinned at something Jack said, something lost under the loud growl of the engine, the rumble that pulsed through the train, the tremor that suddenly started at their feet and started to work it's way up. A sudden jerk almost kicked Mush off his feet, and he reached out and grabbed at Blink's shirtsleeve before he could stop himself.

"Whoa," Blink grinned at him, slapping a hand onto his shoulder, making his stomach jump. "Easy, buddy." Mush realized he was still clinging to his friend. He let go, face flaming with embarrassment. The only times he took the train were when he was with Blink, who had a larger appetite for exploration than he did.

"Sorry," Mush mumbled, glancing over at Jack, who wasn't even looking at him but out the windows, watching the city begin to stream faster and faster.

"So Jack says that the kids he knows has moonshine."

"Moonshine?" Mush furrowed his brow, feeling his stomach tighten even harder. The movement was making him vaguely nauseous. "That's illegal."

"Yeah, but that's what you said about girls' what lift their skirts higher than their knees on stage," Blink said, smiling and patting him roughly on one side of the face. "Don't worry about it, Mush."

"Yeah," Mush said, unable to help noticing Blink's thumb, the way it brushed the corner of his mouth, the way the nail bit slightly at his lip before he pulled away and resumed his whispered conversation with Jack. Furrowing his brows, he looked out the grimy windows at the city sliding by in such a strange way. He didn't think he'd ever get used to the train, it made him sick to his stomach when he rode it too long, and only took him farther and farther away from home. He lapsed into an unbroken silence for the rest of the ride, silently counting stops in his head, waiting for the last that would finally enable him to push out the doors and taste fresh air again.

"Comin' up," Jack said suddenly after a long silence. He pushed himself to his feet. Mush peered out the narrow windows set in the strange, sliding doors as the train began to slow, emitting a series of loud clanks and bursts. He felt Blink's warmth behind him as the two other boys took their places in front of the doors and waited. Mush surveyed the city from his vantage point – the rooftops looked grimy and empty, the streets clogged with trash and people, some coming home from work, some just on their way out.

"Harlem," the conductor called from the front of the car. Mush, Blink, and Jack were the only ones to get off.

He breathed in deeply as they tumbled out onto the platform, ignoring the taste of garbage and soot that choked the air. Harlem could be prettier than the Lower East Side, he thought as they descended, Jack easily taking the steps two at a time with his long, loping legs. Maybe if maybe they cleaned it up a bit, he thought – wiped the soot off the fronts of buildings and threw some of the garbage away. He turned to say so to Blink, but found that his friend was now a few steps ahead of him, one hand on Jack's shoulder, easily matching his stride. Mush frowned, and hurried to catch up.

"My goil lives around here," Blink said, digging into a pocket for his cigarettes with a free hand. "Just down that way."

"That so?" Jack asked.

"Shore is. Prolly about the prettiest goil in New York."

"Mmmm…" And now it was Jack glancing over at Mush, blessing him with a quick knowing grin. Mush didn't smile back, just nodded, unwilling to be too friendly with this boy while Blink was still touching him like that.

"Maybe I'll pay her a visit," Blink said, turning his grin on Mush for the first time in a while, punching his side with a sharp elbow. "Whaddaya say, Mush? You mind takin' the train back without me?"

"I guess," Mush shrugged, but Jack cut in, shaking his head.

"You won't be in any state for courtin' after this stuff. You ever had moonshine before, Blink?"

Blink paused a bit as he lit his cigarette, clearly resentful of having to admit his deficiencies, but unable to skip his way out of the direct question.

"Naw," he said finally, tossing his match down onto the street where it spluttered and went out in the damp. He took a deep drag, before gently removing the cigarette from between his lips and offering it to Jack. "Whiskey, though. Lots."

"Yeah, well," Jack snorted as he took a drag of Blink's cigarette and held it in just a little bit longer, brief plumes of smoke escaping from his nostrils. Blink's one visible eye darkened at Jack's condescension, and his next drag was sharper than the first, the line of his lips tighter. Mush watched his mouth, and smelled the familiar smell of Blink's cigarettes, the smoke making him light-headed. He looked around at the strange tenements, the faces of which he had never seen before, and almost felt like a different person. Or perhaps, a person he had been once at some point.

They walked for what felt like hours. The city was dark as a tomb. The oil lamps that would have usually been ablaze were either unlit or broken, their glass spiking the street below and their darkness eerie. The shapes of the building beyond them were just as mysterious, figures moving behind lit windows as unknowing as the night, their silhouettes giving away nothing. Voices sounded from behind closed doors, laughter echoing up and down the streets like everyone but Mush was in on the joke. He shivered in the oncoming cold, pulling his jacket closer around him and flexing his stiff fingers. Blink had lit another cigarette, more for warmth than anything else, and was smoking it greedily, smoke curling around his face as though he was a chimney.

"Just a little bit further," Jack said, reaching behind him and palming his hat up onto his head. Mush bit back a grin at the ridiculous silhouette he cut in the darkness, the handsome profile and the garish costume in contrast.

"Jeez, it's gettin' cold out," Blink said unnecessarily, swatting at his arms. "Almos' winter, I'm thinkin'."

"You won't notice it after too long," Jack promised with a small, wry grin, eyes focused somewhere in the distance. From far away, Mush could hear the sounds of a piano playing a fast-paced tune, adding small, foreign embellishments at every corner. "Mush? You keepin' up okay?"

"Yeah, Jack," Mush replied, grinding his back teeth together. The smell of Blink's cigarette had chased the lightness in his head with growing nausea, and the pit of anxiety in his stomach just served to make him feel sicker and sicker with every step he took. Blink, in contrast, looked as though he was straining to stay in a slow trot. His eye, bright with excitement, ticked back and forth in the night as though trying to take in everything, and Mush knew from the lightness of his mouth that a grin was not far away.

"They gonna let us in an' all?" Blink asked, glancing over at Jack, who furrowed his brow.

"Of course they'se gonna let us in, whaddaya think this is, the Ritz?"

"I'm just askin'."

"Well maybe quit yer askin'," Jack said amiably, as Blink tossed his cigarette sideways, barely missing Mush's worn shoe by an inch. "'Sides, it's coming up."

Blink obediently shut his mouth as the trio rounded the corner onto what Mush was sure was the shabbiest street in Harlem. The road was lined with trash, from broken bottles to empty crates to discarded wagon wheels cracked down the center. The tenements jutted up from the curb like broken teeth; although lights shone from inside and there flashed occasionally a quick moving, energetic silhouette, it was easy to see that the windows were dirty, missing panes, drafty in the face of the coming winter. The bricks were blackened with soot, the door steps crowded with orange peels, papers, and cigarette butts. Glass crunched under their feet as they moved across the empty road and stepped over the gutter which was veritably clogged with refuse.

"This way," Jack said again, nodding briefly at a tenement down the street. Mush eyed their destination; half burnt down, the exposed side facing them, boasting tiny rooms with charred wallpaper and the ashen remains of furniture that looked past salvation – dressers that tilted drunkenly on two legs, stripped of mirrors, table tops propped up against singed curtains, a bedframe with no mattress and no headboard.

"Shit," Blink murmured to Mush. "Don't clean up much, do they?"

"Lotta absentee landlords around these parts," Jack replied under his breath, voice suddenly weary.

"I'm just sayin'," Blink said, shooting a glance over at Mush, who looked resolutely forwards. The building looked deserted, but just as he was about to say something about it, he caught a tiny glimmer of light shining only, resolutely, through a nook in one of the half burnt rooms, thought he heard, from what seemed like a different world, voices and laughter.

"Ain't no one official that knows about this," Jack said, turning to Mush and raising his eyebrows. "You fellows can keep a secret?"

Mush looked up at Jack's eyes, glimmering strangely under the wide brim of his hat, which suddenly didn't look so silly any more. "Sure," he said, uncomfortable with the attention. _If there's anything I'm good at,_ he thought wryly as Blink grinned at him and lay a hand on his shoulder, _it's keeping secrets._

The three boys jogged up the steps to the seemingly deserted tenement. Jack stole a quick look up and down the street, which was empty, before knocking at the door twice, and after a brief pause, three times. Blink turned and shot Mush a grin that, even in the dark, made Mush's knees go weak. From within the building there was only silence, but Jack didn't seem too worried, and simply waited, solid and unsettled. After a moment, Mush could hear the softest of footsteps coming from inside, skilled feet wending their way quietly across the floor, as the handle turned with a rusty sounding click and the door cracked open a notch.

"Who's there?" A voice said from inside.

"It's me, Mac," Jack said, tipping his hat back slightly and leaning forwards. "I got friends with me."

"Yeah? How many?"

"Two of 'um."

"Anyone see you comin'?"

"Not a soul," Jack said with a slight smile. There was a pause, then the door swung open, inwards, revealing an interior that was darker than a snakehole. Mush looked over at Blink, but the boy was already following Jack inside, reaching up and palming his hat off the back of his head. Mush wrinkled his nose and followed suit just as a cold wind rushed through the street, nipping at the back of his heels as he stepped into the building and let the door swing shut behind him.

It plunged them into blackness sure as sleep, and Mush felt almost disoriented as he heard footsteps moving away, echoing off the old, crumbling walls.

"Blink?" He said under his breath, taking one step forwards, then another. "Hey, buddy?" His toe hit something solid and hard, and he felt a sudden movement near his arm.

"Watch it," a strange, harsh voice said, and Mush shut his mouth firmly, feeling out the ground before him with his toes.

"This way," Blink's voice, ahead of him. Resolutely, Mush kept moving, eyes unfocused, steps cautious. He could feel movement on either side of him, and the smell of charred clay shot with dampness and mould made him breath in shallow hiccups, nose wrinkled, top lip curling. Now that he was inside, he could hear the rumble of conversation compressed, like an oncoming storm.

"So how are things on the Lower East, Cowboy?" The man named Mac was whispering, far up ahead.

"Bully, Mac," Mush was surprised to hear Jack say.

"Cowboy," Blink's voice again, closer now, whispering to him. "You hear that?"

"Guess he weren't always called Jack," Mush replied under his breath.

"How is things up here?" Jack was asking.

"Touch an' go, Cowboy, touch an' go," Mac said, breathing out long through his nose. "We'se thinkin' of movin' house, you know. The bulls is onto us."

"Well, if you ever need a hand…"

"Oh sure, Cowboy, maybe with my boy. You know my boy…"

"I'm thinking Knipes would have been less trouble," Mush murmured. He was just able to make out Blink's outline beside him, backlit by weak moonlight that filtered in through the nooks of the walls.

"Well just wait and see what you thinks after this," Blink said in anticipation. Mush sighed. He felt the space around them narrow, and thought maybe they were moving through a hallway, but couldn't be sure. "Where you think Jack got that hat?" Blink asked after a moment.

"Beats me," Mush said grumpily. "Out West?"

"You think he's been out West?"

"I guess,"

"Keep up, fellas," Jack's voice, streaming back through the darkness, the only thing discernable about him the strange shape of his hat, floating above the other, rounded heads. Blink and Mush obediently moved faster. "How's the situation with the 'shine?" Jack was asking. "'Nuff for three?"

"Your boys ever had any before?"

"Naw,"

"Then maybe. T'ings is shore running slow down South, I ain't had a shipment in months."

Mush was about to ask Blink whether or not they should even bother sticking around, but before them a door opened, and everything was suddenly illuminated. Mush squinted against the gentle oil light, saw Blink thrown into focus, his eyes glimmering, saw Jack clearly ahead of them with Mac, who now turned to give them a thorough once over. His face thrown into light, Mush could finally see the elegant mouth, the gray, coarse stubble, the large, liquid eyes that seemed almost dimmed, as though the man peering out from behind them had the shades drawn. He looked older than he sounded, a tired, suspicious face carrying the voice of a young man in it's mouth.

There was a moment before he spoke. "Come on, then."

Mush and Blink moved forwards.

The room he led them into was not large, but not shabby. Though some of the furniture was blackened and the damp looking walls smelled strongly of soot and something else, something bitter and potent and foreign, the light was soft and the air was warm. Mush glanced around at the inhabitants as he moved past the doorway, furtively behind Blink. All men, young, the youngest looking not too many years younger than Mush himself, all sitting on chairs that looked fifty years old but wearing clothes that could have been tailored just yesterday. Blink turned and shot a grin at Mush who felt, again, suddenly very poor and shabby next to these boys, all of whom were laughing and shooting jokes back and forth in voices so loud, he was astonished that he hadn't heard them on the other side of the door.

"Papa Mac," one boy grinned, his bright eyes flashing like coins. "An' the Wild West rider hisself. How's it rollin', Cowboy?"

"Not too shabby, Sam," Jack said in his quiet way, giving a brief nod. "Roy, 'Bo, Collins, Boots." Greetings echoed throughout the room as Mac moved towards the door opposite them.

"See you brought us a friend or two," Sam said, raising his eyebrows.

"Yeah, everyone, this here's Mush and Blink," Jack said, gesturing at the two of them with large hands. "We…ah, we work together."

"Paper pushers," Sam said, leaning back. "Tell me, do y'all make as much money as Cowboy say he do?"

"A bit," Blink conceded, glancing over at Jack.

"Well," Sam grinned. "A bit. That shore is something, innit?" The room erupted into laughter. Mush gave half a smile, not quite sure he got the joke, but Jack just rolled his eyes and waited.

"Cowboy!" Mac's voice came from the room up ahead. "Got about half a bottle waiting back here for you, son."

"C'mon," Jack said briefly to Mush and Blink over his shoulder. The other boys were still laughing, loud, wide-mouthed laughs that made Mush nervous and somewhat elated at the same time. The one that Jack had called Boots pushed himself up from his chair, skinny, elastic limbs unfolding, and trotted after them, pushing through Mush and Blink to get to Jack's side.

"Heya Boots," Jack said again, clapping him on the shoulder as they pushed through the door and into another, narrow hallway, stairs branching off upwards on either side. The wallpaper was faded and peeling, Mush could see, in the little light that the wall-lamps gave. "How's your ol' man doin'?"

"Not too good, Jack," Boots said, voice betraying his age. Mush studied the boy's wiry, nervous shoulders, the thin doe's neck, watched the scuffed but clean heels of his shoes hit the dirty checked tile. "Maw's still sick an' gran-maw's arthritis is actin' up again an' the stills ain't as reliable as they used to be."

"Naw?"

"Naw, apparently the mountain poe-leese is comin' down hard down there."

There was a clatter from the floor above, and footsteps pouring down the stairs like a waterfall. Mush glanced up to see a man pulling a woman by the hand, bowler hat tilted back, teeth very white in the blackness of the hall. They were both laughing. He stepped aside, roughly jostling Blink as they flew past, with barely a look for either of them.

"Shame," Jack said, glancing over his shoulder at the couple. "How's yer sister doin'?"

"Better. Jones say…" Boots' voice trailed off as he turned and cast his luminous eyes first on Blink, and then on Mush, showing no hint of a smile on his face. There was an echo of Mac in his eyes, the way they were half drawn, suspicious. He turned back to Jack and spoke in a whisper. "Jones say it's always like that after operations that…uh, that he do, but she'll get over it."

"'At's great, Boots," Jack said, as they reached the end of the hallway. "Say, you wanna go say hi to yer maw for me?"

"She's sleepin', Jack."

"Well then, yer sis. Tell her I wanna pay my respects to the most beautiful goil in Harlem."

"Aww, _Jack,_" Boots said, wrinkling his nose, but obligingly turned and pushed past Mush and Blink again, moving towards the stairs. Mush watched him go. From overhead they could hear the sounds of a woman singing, the deep, plaintive notes in her voice made Mush feel like something was being drawn slowly from the bottom of his stomach. He looked back to find Jack's eyes trailing Boots' heels up the stairs.

"He's a good kid," Jack said briefly to Blink. "Good family. Won't last long."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Blink asked, glancing back at the stairs.

"Operations like this never do."

"Cowboy?" The door in front of them opened. Mac was standing on the other side with something long and cylindrical rolled up in old newspapers. Mush's eyes, the trained eyes of a newspaper boy, caught on one of the smaller headlines, bold in the darkness. _Beggar Child found Mutliated in Soho Victim of Devlin Gang_.

"Mac, I heard about your daughter," Jack said, taking the package. "Lemme help out…" Mac's large hands went up the air, fingers spread, pale palms gleaming.

"This one's on me, Cowboy. I ain't one to forget a favor."

Jack paused, hefting the bottle in his hands. "Well, like I says, if you ever need a hand with anything…"

"Shore, son, shore…"

"It ain't too much trouble if we, ah…"

"G'wan upstairs," Mac smiled. "Charlie's up there waitin' for ya."

The two of them briefly shook hands, and Mac gave a short nod to Blink and Mush, before easing the door closed. Blink was looking eagerly at the package in Jack's hands, but Jack's eyes were looking beyond him.

"C'mon," he said, nodding towards the stairs, "up there's where the fun is."

-0-

Next chapter is already in the works. I promise.

Love (love love love) Misprint


	8. seven

**It Just Won't Quit**

**Chapter Seven**

Looking back on it, Mush cannot recall when he first knew he was drunk.

It could have been from the very first shot – Jack had gathered them together on the landing of the steps. The sound of music from above was growing louder and louder, and Mush knew without knowing that it could now be heard from the outside, an echo in the street.

"Here we go," Jack said, half under his breath, uncorking the top and swilling the liquid around inside experimentally. "Mush? You first up?"

Mush's pause as he eyed the mouth of the bottle was enough for Blink.

"Here, lemme," he said, holding out his hand. Jack obligingly passed over the liquor, and Mush's friend took a moment to steel himself before pressing it to his mouth and throwing his head back.

He emerged in a fit of coughing, the skin along his cheekbones turning immediately red and bright. Letting out a low groan, he passed it onto Jack, who took his shot quickly, pursing his lips up tight and shaking his head hard, as though to flick away errant drops of water. Before Mush knew entirely what he was doing, the bottle was in his hand, traveling, the cool mouth of it was still wet from Jack's lips as he pressed it to him, took a tentative sip…

"Holy shit, Mush," Blink said.

He was coughing harder than he had ever coughed before. Blink took the bottle from him admiringly as Mush bent double, hands on his knees, breathing as though he had been underwater for hours. The burn felt like a flame, scorching down his stomach and lighting him up from the inside; he was surprised his hands were still opaque, dull, and dirty. They felt like they were on fire.

When he straightened up, he was already dizzy.

"Jesus," was all Blink could manage on his second shot. He hastily pressed a fist to his mouth and closed his eyes – Mush knew the look. It was the same one he got after half a bottle of whiskey straight.

"Just don't think about it," Jack advised in a hard, raspy voice, passing it to Mush again. The second was the worst, he could feel his throat constricting, his stomach churning in protest. "Good boy, you ain't even half done yet…"

"You got water up there?" Blink asked, his throat rough.

"Like how?"

"Like a tap or summin?"

"It ain't my house, Blink…" Jack threw his head back after his third shot, breathing deep. Mush wasn't even thinking anymore as he shot another, a numbness was stealing through his lips, his tongue, he could only think how fast, how very, very fast it worked…

"Shit," Blink said a few moments later. "I gotta…I gotta stop, don't know if I can stand no more."

How many shots had he had now? Five? Mush blinked, studying his hands, wondering if the room had just gotten darker or if he was slowly going blind. They seemed to waver, flicker at him, as though saying goodbye.

"Don't panic," Jack said, his hand fell clumsily against Mush's back. "Come on, good boy…"

"I can't see right…"

"Sure you can,"

"Blink!" Mush reached out. He could feel the stretch of muscles along his arm working, could grasp at Blink's thin shirt, but could not focus. "Blink I can't see!"

"Shhh…" Blink grabbed at his hands, their fingers laced. "Jack? Jack, he can see can't he?"

"Sure he can – Mush, just calm down, it's like this sometimes, just breathe a bit…"

"Shit…" Blink was saying. Mush thought back to the way Blink's thumb had stroked against his at Irving Hall, and blurrily began to mimic the movement, up along the hard callous of Blink's skin, the bitten ridge of the nail. He thought he felt his pulse. "Jack, is he…"

"Come on…" Jack was saying, and Mush was walking up the steps now, blindly, one foot before the other, Blink's hand still caught up in his grasp. "Gently…gently…there you go…"

But it was a lie to say that he couldn't see, because he could now, clearly, almost as though everything had been thrown into the light of day. He realized they were standing in a room, and for one bizarre second he thought it was the lodging house bedrooms, but with the bunks all cleared away and the posters taken down. But the differences began to present themselves in sweet, tidy order – the burn marks along the floorboards, the piano in the corner, the three or four bodies grouped around it singing in strident, beautiful voices…but the piano was going to fast, the tune was tripping over itself, flyaway notes seemed to scatter like debris and Mush's eyebrows furrowed, trying to take it all in…

"Hey pretty-boy!" A grinning, dark face presented itself to his eyes. "You awake in there?"

"Leave him alone, Charlie," Jack said, grinning, falling over his feet.

"Blink, I can see," Mush mumbled to his friend, feeling the sudden materialization of a hand on his shoulder.

"Christ, Mush, I know. You been saying that for the past half hour."

"I have?"

"Shit," Charlie said, grabbing onto Jack as he stumbled into him. The collision of their bodies, the spinning room, it all made Mush feel slightly sick. "How much did you give this boy?"

"Not as much as you had by the looks of it," Jack slurred, grinning. "Mush, this here's Charlie, the biggest son of a bitch you'll ever know."

"Now that ain't nice," Charlie laughed, mockingly sending a punch at Jack's stomach. "That ain't a nice thing to say about nobody."

"The truth ain't pretty, my friend. Hey Mush, c'mon, there's dancing the room over…"

"You're boy ain't dancing for a while yet," Charlie cautioned, winking at Mush. But Blink was. Mush shook his head, as though waking. He was in a different room, bigger with larger windows, and thick with the whirl of bodies. He cast his eyes around and caught sight of Blink's hair, standing out like a coin in the gutter. He was whirling a girl around by her waist, she was laughing, flashing very white teeth…

"So what is you anyways?" Charlie was saying, and Mush was astonished to realize he was still beside him. The whip of lace off a girl's dress as she spun by distracted him, and he felt the floor rumble, slide under his feet. "Whoa…easy now…"

"Ummm…what am I? I'm Mush," he offered lamely, stumbling to catch his balance. Charlie laughed out loud.

"Jesus, boy, I know you is. If that ain't the third time you introduced yourself to me." Mush looked over, eyeing the boy, wondering how long he had known him. It seemed like only a moment. His eyes, small and flashing, seemed to brim over with laughter. There was a bowler hat cocked back on his head, revealing a thick, dark scrub of hair. The pale blue of his shirt was clean, pressed, wrinkled easily along the sleeves and waist…

"You Jack's friend?"

"Jackie an' I go way back."

"What do you mean by…what I…"

"Quadroon?" Charlie said, raising his eyebrows. "Or is you half an' half? I picked you for quadroon myself."

Mush's brows wrinkled. Charlie's voice was coming from very far away, but where was Blink? It was important that he found him. "I wouldn't be askin' myself were it not for a few girls in the other room that want to know…think you're mighty handsome for a mixed boy…you looking for an introduction?"

"I'm…I'm not interested, Charlie, I gotta find my friend…" Mush mumbled drunkenly, but Charlie's hand found it's way to Mush's shoulder, tightened slightly.

"You gotta stay here a while, boy. You're still a little confused."

And he was in a hallway, Jack's arm was looped around his waist, and they were stumbling away. A few voices called out to Jack in greeting, and Mush grinned, brimming with contentment, happy to be included, to be close to someone so well loved.

"Where's Blink?" Jack asked him, and Mush felt his stomach swoop.

"I don't know!" He glanced into a room as they passed by, caught a snatch of blond hair, but it was different, redder, thinner. "Jack, where'd he…"

But Blink was there with them, the girl he had danced with clinging to his side like a newspaper bag might. Mush thought of this and laughed, and Blink was grinning at him, his visible eye flashing like a lit up sign across the dark hallway and they were there and staring and smiling at one another, and in the darkness it was easy to imagine falling forwards, imagine his head finding that space between Blink's neck and shoulder where it could rest, and rest…

And then they were back in the room, Blink's back to him, his arm around the girls' waist. Mush rubbed his head, wondering how many hours had passed since they had arrived – more than he had first thought. Blink's laugh rent the air like a punch, and Mush looked up, feeling the usual twinge of jealousy but removed, like an echo of an echo, a dream that he may have once had. Jack was slumped against the doorway, and when Mush turned to look at him he felt the room tip, like it was being poured…

He was stumbling down the hall again. He looked to his left for Blink, but he was no longer there. It felt vaguely as though a thorn had been pulled from his side, leaving a brief, vague absence.

"Blink?" he called. The music was pounding now, the foundations of the house seemed to be rattling. "Blink!"

"Slow down, boy…" Charlie's hand on his shoulder, his hip jogging Mush's. Mush turned to see his smooth, contemplative face, grinning crookedly. "How you doing there?"

"Good…I'm looking for…"

"Blink? Shit, I know, the whole house knows. Come sit with me for a bit."

"I will later…I gotta…"

"Mush…"

"Just make sure he's okay."

"Come on, now…"

But Mush stumbled away, shrugging off Charlie's hand, casting his gaze drunkenly from left to right. He wondered how much time had passed, and tried to think over the night – had he danced? His legs were sore, the soles of his feet burning like coals, but he couldn't possibly have – with whom would he have danced with?

For a moment he thought he saw Blink, but it was a different head of hair, redder, thinner. He blinked. Hadn't he seen him before? And how did he get back to the room where they were dancing? Surely Blink would be there, spinning that girl on his hip, laughing the way he did.

"Easy…." Charlie was laughing, boosting him up again, helping him through a door. What door? Mush looked around. He was in a smaller room, sparsely furnished; the bodies in it were leaning up against walls, perched on tables and bed frames, standing in the corners. A few women, more men…he wasn't in the right frame of mind to count. All was a jumble of lace and dark, chocolate skin and tweed…

"Like I told you," Charlie said, depositing Mush in the corner of a sofa. "Your friend beat it with that girl."

"The girl?"

"Even if you did find him, I don't think he'd be in the mood for conversation,"

A chorus of laughter broke out at his words. Mush closed his eyes, letting his head fall against the sofa back. He was suddenly tired. Exhausted. Charlie was laughing, telling something someone else about _moonshine _and _first time _and _something to calm him down, _he couldn't keep up. How was he going to get home? He thought of Blink, the way his body swayed on the train, the way he looked so good dancing…

"You Mush?"

He opened his eyes. His head lolled sideways on the sofa, he saw there was a girl sitting next to him; he hadn't even noticed. But there she was, slim in her cream colored dress, with a froth of chocolate colored curls escaping from a loose knot on her neck.

"S'me," he said shortly. She gave a laugh, it was like a bird call.

"I thought so. Now what sorta name is that?"

Mush blinked. Her skin was the color of good coffee with just the right amount of milk in it, her mouth full and well shaped, shining like fruit, and her eyes a startling, flashing blue.

"Mine, I guess."

She laughed again, and shifted closer to him on the couch.

"My name's Elois. I saw you standin' all alone in the middle of all them dancers, but you was gone before I even had the chance to say hello!"

"I was lookin' fer…"

"Your boy, Blink? Honey, I know," she gave him a conspiratorial grin. "That's my friend Beatrice he ran off with. Anything I should tell her?"

"Umm…" Mush pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes and rubbed hard. Yes, there were many things. But saying them seemed like a breach of some vague confidence Blink had in him. And he wanted to avoid talking as much as possible.

"I get it," Elois said, smiling. "Boys will be boys, right?"

"I guess…"

Someone struck up a thin, withered looking cigarette, the smell of smoke was filling the room. He could feel Elois' brilliant eyes lingering on him a moment, before she turned and leaned forwards to join in with the conversation. Giving up, the way they always did.

Mush closed his eyes, feeling the delicious give of the sofa beneath him, thinking of how nice it would be to sink into his bed and close his eyes, surrender himself to sleep. He wondered, with a twinge of jealousy, where Blink would be sleeping tonight. Probably not back at the lodging house. The image of his friend, entwined with his girl, a girl who's face Mush couldn't even remember, their mouths pressed fast and close…he felt a distinct jab in his chest, as though he had been stabbed.

He opened his eyes.

Elois was still beside him, laughing, accepting the cigarette that he realized was being passed around the room. He blinked – his brain felt as though it were grinding in slow motion. He was inclined to look away, but he had never seen a girl smoke before. She glanced over and caught his gaze, gave him a crooked smile, and blew out a long, white plume through her full lips.

"You want a pass on it, Mush?"

"Um…yeah, okay," he accepted it from her. Something about the way her mouth looked around it reminded him of Blink. He put it to his lips, felt the wetness of it, and tried not to cough.

"You smoke much?" He asked, wrinkling his nose, seeing wisps of thick white inelegantly escape his lips. It didn't taste like the ones Blink smoked; it was earthier, scummier, it smelled like the inside of a pharmacy. Elois laughed at his expression.

"More than you, I wager. Surprised?"

"A bit," he conceded, passing the cigarette to Charlie, who accepted it from him with a sly grin that was hard to interpret.

"I know it's not lady like," she said, pressing her lips together primly, but with the shadow of a mischievous smirk. Mush laughed in spite of himself.

"Elois is the least lady like girl I know of," Charlie shot over his shoulder. "She was the one that was askin' after you earlier, wasn't you Elois?" His voice went high and mincing. "_Now who is that handsome boy…_"

"Shut your mouth!" Elois gasped, reaching over to slap Charlie over the head with a laugh. Her shoulder pushed into Mush's chest, and he thought he felt, if only for a moment, the firm push of her breast. He breathed in deeply, feeling an uncomfortable stiffening along his spine.

"Forward as a man," Charlie retorted, ducking out of the way.

"Charlie, you're makin' a fool outta me!"

"Girl, you're makin' a fool outta yourself!"

Elois laughed, leaning back, her hand brushing Mush's thigh so lightly he could have dreamed it. He tongued the edges of his teeth hard, wishing Blink was there.

"Don't mind him," Elois told him, with another conspiratorial smile, as though she and Mush were the only ones in the room. "He just likes to kick up dust. Like a school boy," she added sharply over his shoulder, shooting Charlie a warning look.

"If you say so," Charlie laughed, coughing, passing the cigarette on. Mush felt as though clouds were crawling through his head. He shook it once, gave a brief, weak sounding laugh.

"You doin' alright there, honey?" Elois asked, laying a slim hand on his shoulder.

"Smells like medicine…" Mush said, although his voice sounded very far away. "What you all smoking medicine for?"

This garnered the loudest laugh the room had heard yet, although Mush couldn't quite understand why. Even Elois was smiling at him in a contrary way.

"That's enough," she said playfully to the rest of them. "Maybe no more for you, Mushy, alright?"

"Mushy," Charlie repeated, rolling his eyes.

"You need some fresh air?" She asked. Her hand was still on his shoulder. Mush wanted to nod, but it felt as though his bones were gone. "Come on. You an' me will get some fresh air…"

"You watch yourself, Mush, she's gon' give you more than some fresh air…"

"Charlie, you shut your damn mouth!"

"Yeah, boy!"

There were a few whoops and hollers from around the room as Mush grinned sheepishly, letting himself be pulled to his feet, across the floor, almost tripping over an outstretched, narrow leg, out the door…

The stairs were a jumble of confusion, Elois gripped his arm hard as they stumbled down together, Mush was laughing in spite of himself. It was the happiest he had felt in a long time, he was not quite sure of why.

"Ain't never seen you around here before…" Elois was saying over her shoulder in her sweet, lilting bird's voice. Mush liked listening to her voice, it was like listening to a song. This thought made him want to laugh, but his throat was dry as sand, so he just smiled. "…living with Jack? Down on the Lower East?"

It took Mush a moment. "What?"

Another trill. "Never mind, honey." It seemed as though they were flying, through the hallway, into the room where Sam, Roy, and Boots once sat though now it was empty and dark in the corners…

The old lobby of the building suddenly materialized around him. It was dark as the blackest night he could remember, and he was very conscious all of a sudden of the way his breath rattled in his throat, like a marble in a tin cup.

"We going outside?" He asked.

"It's cold out," Elois told him. Her voice was silk, running through his fingers. "I thought maybe you'd like it down here, away from everyone an' all."

"Sure," Mush said, a sudden desperation clawing up his throat. "Where's Blink?"

Elois laughed, he felt her fingers threading in through his, felt the bite of a cheap tin ring, the smoothness of her nails.

"You'd think he was your sweetheart, the way you hark after him." Mush's heart seized up, it felt as though it was pounding very hard. He blinked, trying to focus his eyes. With the dark gray light filtering through a few chinks in the windows, set up high on the wall, he could just make out the shine of her hair, the dim, sweet curve of her cheek, and of course, the lightness of her eyes. "You got a sweetheart, Mush?"

Something vague in his head was telling him that this meant trouble, but he couldn't be bothered to pay attention to it now. Was she talking about Blink?

"We're friends."

"I ain't talking about Blink anymore."

The top of his head felt like it was opening up. Although he couldn't make out the shape of her body, he felt as though it might be close. His spine was stiff as a ruler, and for some reason, he hoped against hope that she hadn't noticed.

"You don't have to be all shy with me, Mush," Elois said.

Mush looked down at her. She smiled, a smile sweet as sugar, and the way her blue eyes crinkled was heartbreakingly familiar. To kiss her now would be so easy; he knew it was what she was expecting. Somewhere deep inside him he felt a fissure, as though his lungs were torn or a bone had cracked. But the pain was secondary, imagined, three times removed. His body remained still, numb and fleshy, while he felt himself rising, floating, hovering near the ceiling. A spectator.

The corners of Elois' lips picked up into a child-like smile.

"You know," she said, and her mouth was very close, but who was moving? "You're one of the funniest boys I've ever met."

Mush kissed her.

Elois sighed, and he moved as though he was a machine. His hand hung clumsily by his side, his mouth moved by instinct, he concentrated on the small things – the strange, new taste of her, the fineness of her hand, the tickle of those winding curls against his cheek. It was like fruit, or honey, or the sweet things he rarely got to taste. It was the stinging saccharine of sugar. Idly, he wondered what Blink's kiss would taste like; food, salt, smoke.

"Mush," Elois murmured against his bottom lip. His name, sweetened and buttered, weirdly foreign. Mush said nothing. Elois was better at this than he was. Reason flickered in and out in his head like a light, and he didn't think about why his lips parted and closed, why his tongue flicked at hers, why his heart was still and dull as ever. The crack inside him deepened, and he shut his eyes tight.

Upstairs the music was still going strong, but downstairs there was nothing. The quiet of dusty, still places, soft whimpers of the girl who's lips were pressed to his, the dull, slow thud of a heart that no longer seemed to belong to him. He thought he heard a bark of laughter in the distance, and didn't want to recognize it as Blink's. He bit back a moan in his throat. There was nothing distasteful with kissing Elois. Removed from his body, weirdly vacant, it was something he could get used to.

"You _are_ funny, Mush," Elois told him, and Mush opened his eyes. Through the dark, he could see her lashes slowly lifting, could see the weird, sweet emptiness of her own eyes, could see that intolerable, impossible blue. In a second, he was drowning.

Her other hand found his chest, and crept up to his shoulder, around the back of his neck; she deftly twined her arms about him, her body sighing against his. Feeling sick, he placed his hands hesitantly at her waist. The smallness of her made him want to cry.

"What I mean," her whisper was as small as she was against his mouth. "Is I ain't never met anyone quite like you."

What happened next was too fast for him to register. The door bursting open, dull golden light illuminating their close skin, the sharp intrusion of voices.

"You keep your hands off me!"

"Wouldja calm down?"

Elois' mouth was gone. Mush took a sharp breath, trying to focus his eyes on the sudden confusion of shadows, silhouettes. Two people coming in off the street; a set of shoulders and a profile that was strikingly familiar. Overhead footsteps pounded like rain, shouts of laughter, rage, and greeting...

"Mush?" It was Blinks' voice, rough, angry. Mush felt as though his legs were boneless.

"Beatrice?" Elois breathed. Her hands left Mush's body as she moved towards the figures, taking her scent, her warmth, removing herself by degrees.

"_Don't_ touch me, Blink, you can just take those pretty words and leave me alone!"

"Jesus, you don't gotta yell, I don't even know what I _did…_"

"Oh yeah? Who's Adriana? _Who is she?_"

"Blink!" Mush managed. A rough hand took him by the forearm, and the room spun as Blink yanked him around, leaving the howling Beatrice hurling epithets after them. Mush felt his stomach bottom out as Blink hauled him through the door. He thought he heard Elois' tender voice growing shrill as it climbed an octave, thought he heard his name through her lips, all secondary to the close, hot sound of Blink's breath as he barreled through the empty room, took to the stairs, pulled Mush along as though his life depended on it. Mush felt warmth flooding to every inch of his body. It was like waking up.

"Blink!" He gasped again, tripping on the stairs, feeling as though the world was moving too fast for him to catch up. "What's going on?"

"That goil's crazy," Blink spat, stumbling slightly over his laces. Mush, through the haze in his brain, realized his friend was still drunk. "I mention somethin' about Adriana and she starts clawing at me and screaming like I was hittin' her or somethin'! I thought she was gonna wake up the whole block! We're finding Jack. We're getting out of here."

Mush felt sick. His toe hit a bottle on the landing, and it rolled, slipping under his feet and almost sending him sprawling.

"Jesus!" Blink exploded angrily. "Goddammit, Mush, can you not stay on your damn feet for five seconds, please?"

Mush felt something snag on his shoe, mindlessly grabbed at it. Paper. He shoved it in his pocket. They were moving down the hallway now, he felt the press of bodies, the noise level rising, the feeling that they were underwater.

"The hell is wrong with you," Blink snapped, hauling him forwards. "Where's Jack?"

"I don't know," Mush mumbled, his tongue feeling thick.

"Right," Blink said, and shot Mush a look of disgust. "You were too busy with that mulatto girl_, _weren't you?"

"What?"

"I saw you two! Pettin' in the foyer like it's your own private apartment! Jesus."

Mush's brows furrowed, but before he could reply Jack appeared, as though by magic, the sloppy, drunken grin of the hour before gone, and replaced with a tired frown.

"There you two are!" He said, glancing over at Mush's pained expression, his reddened eyes. "Christ, I been looking all over. We gotta get out of here, there's bad blood brewing over this girl down the hall…Jesus, Mush, what happened to you?"

"Come on," Blink told Mush, jerking his arm a bit. Mush closed his eyes, allowing himself to be led back through the pack of bodies, down the stairs for the second time that night. He feared going through the lobby and running into Elois again – what if she was waiting there, with her patient hands and soft mouth? – or Beatrice who would probably just yell some more, but the dark room was empty.

"Blink, buddy, slow down, you look like a madman."

"I need a smoke."

The cold air hit Mush's face like a slap, and he opened his eyes wide, inhaling deeply. The stars were shining frostily in the sky, and the block seemed quieter, emptier, though a few lights still burned from the insides of the dilapidated buildings. A group of boys had congregated in the gutter, passing around a lit cigarette; their boisterous laughter echoed up and down the street. Blink relinquished his grip, angrily digging into his pockets for his pack of cigarettes. Mush felt the hot, tender skin where his fingers had pressed into the flesh.

"Christ," Jack swore, leaning against a lamp post, running his hands through his long hair. The cowboy hat was hanging off his shoulders again. He turned his face upwards, as though drinking in the starlight. "Some place, hey?"

Mush could barely remember any of it. He watched as Blink shoved a cigarette in his mouth and searched hotly for a match.

"You okay?" Mush asked, lips numb. Blink shot him a dirty look, and did not reply. Mush's heart gave an involuntary twinge.

"So whaddaya guys think?" Jack snorted. "Ever goin' back to whiskey?"

"Shut your mouth, Jack," Blink mumbled irately, turning out his pockets.

"What's up with you?" Jack asked, furrowing his brow. "You get in a fight or summin?"

"What's up with me?" Blink repeated, his voice keyed up a few notes. "I don't know, I'm havin' a good time out for a smoke when all of a sudden this dumbass goil starts _screamin'_ at me for no reason…not to mention my best friend here runs off with some mulatto on me…"

"What about her?" Mush asked, brows furrowing tight. The memory of Elois surfaced, the softness of her kisses, the way they were illuminated by the light streaming in from the street when Blink threw the door open…

"Elois?" Jack asked suddenly, with a grin. "Charlie told me. Whaddaya say, Mush?"

Blink snorted. "Elois," he repeated. "What kinda name is that?"

"Good as any," Mush retorted, hurt. He watched in confusion as Blink checked the pockets of his jacket, pointedly not looking at his friend. "What's wrong with you, Blink?"

"What's wrong with _you_?" Blink shot back nastily. "God dammit, now my matches is gone too!"

"Calm down," Jack frowned, digging into his own pockets. "It ain't Mush's fault, Blink."

Blink grumbled something indistinctly, still not looking up at Mush. Mush faltered, unable to think of a thing to say, his mouth hanging open stupidly. How had it come to this? What had he done wrong? He thought of all of Blink's affairs, his stories, his conquests, measured against a stolen moment of kisses with Elois…

"I'm out," Jack said, taking a few steps towards the boys in the gutter. "Hey fellas? Any one a' you got a match we can use over here?"

"Blink…" Mush said, but Blink cut him off.

"Can it, Mush. You wanna go run off with _Elois_ or whoever she is why don't you just go."

"I _don't…_"

"I don't care what you do or what you don't do…" he slurred his words drunkenly, chewing on the unlit cigarette. "So just…just do what you wanna do."

"Blink!"

Blink turned aroud. Jack was walking towards him, holding out a match box warily. "Here you go, buddy. Now will you quit yellin' your head off?"

Blink took the box with little grace, struck a match, and turned his back on Mush.

Mush slumped against the front of the building, watching the brief glow outline his friend's broad, capable looking shoulders. The clouds in his head were dissipating, leaving him feeling low, and stupid. He couldn't help but notice, even in the darkness, the dark lipstick marks on his friend's neck.

"Don't worry about it," Jack said quietly, leaning up against the brick beside Mush.

"I ain't," Mush said, with an uncharacteristic fierceness. He looked away from his friend, glancing at the group of boys that had been generous with their matches. One of them was staring at him, his face thrown into shadow, his reddish blonde hair gleaming cleanly in the street lamps. Mush furrowed his brow and dropped his gaze to the tip of his shoe. He thought he heard the conversation in that group drop by degrees.

"Still, though…" Jack grinned under his breath, gently elbowing Mush's bicep. "Elois? She's a pretty thing."

"I guess," Mush said mulishly. He knew Jack was expecting more, but didn't think he could deliver. "She...she was real nice to me."

"Nice goil," Jack agreed, breathing in deep through his nose. "Real nice goil. Charlie's cousin. _Christ,_" he swore again. "It's gonna be a long train ride back to the Lower East Side. When does the newsboys house close up?"

"Dunno," Mush replied absently. He heard a brief, low laugh from the gutter, and heard a few pairs of footsteps moving towards the house. It was only when a pair of good quality, brown leather shoes came into his view that he realized he was being approached, and looked up.

He froze.

_"Fucking pansy." William was yelling._

The face was startlingly familiar, complete, disturbingly close. Mush couldn't swallow, couldn't breathe, couldn't even think to do anything in the face of those blue eyes, the handsome chin, the austere, Puritan mouth and that thin, blonde hair…

_Don't ever talk to me again. Don't even look at me. You do, and I swear, I'll kill you. _

"Say," the mouth was moving, he caught a glimpse of straight, white teeth, a glinting wet tongue… "Do I know your face?"

Jack had grown quiet, was looking at Mush sideways. Mush quickly dropped his eyes, feeling his heart pounding loudly at the front of his chest.

"Naw," he said quickly, his voice hoarse. He was close. William was close.

"Funny," William said. "Coulda sworn I've seen you before."

"No," Mush said again, his throat dry. One of William's companions gave a short, rough, bark of a laugh, and he could almost hear his smile.

"You from around here?"

"No sir,"

"Yeah? You ain't never lived around these parts? Near the river?"

Mush wanted to answer, but he realized that his voice was gone. His breath was gone. It was all he could do to remain standing. He wished he could look over to see if Blink was looking away, to see if he was even listening. Fear gripped at him. He knew that William knew. He knew that one word would be all it took…

"You jokin' with me?" A hand took hold of Mush's chin and forced his head roughly upwards. Mush's teeth clicked together, his vision spun, he felt stars going off inside his head. There he was again, a face from the past, blindingly beautiful, his eyes harsh as knives. "You think you bein' funny by not answering me?"

"Hey!" Jack had pushed himself up from the wall, was standing straight as a rod, face hardening. Mush never realized how tall he was, but appreciated now, all of a sudden, how he had an inch or two on William. "He said you don't know his face."

There was a brief pause. Mush kept his eyes low, only half saw as William turned to give Jack the once-over, silently eyeing the scrappy stretch of muscle along his shoulders, under the sleeves of his blouse.

Mush couldn't help it. He looked over at Blink. His friend was still standing a few feet away, face thrown into shadow, but the cigarette was gone from his fingers, smoldering unsmoked on the ground, and his hands were balled tight into fists. The sight of them made a warmth sweep up Mush's stomach.

When he looked back, William was following the line of his vision. His eyes lingered on Blink for a moment, whose arms tensed defensively, before returning to Mush. For the first time, the two of them caught each other's gaze.

William smiled.

He released Mush's chin roughly, and Mush sank back against the wall, grinding his teeth together hard.

"My mistake," William said. "You look like this kid I used to know. Don't remember his name. Don't even think he had one."

"Hey," Jack said, eyes still burning warily. "No need to get nasty."

"You're right," William said, still smiling at Mush. "My apologies. Maybe we'll even see each other around some day."

"Let's go," Mush said quietly to Jack, his voice low and frightened. "Jack, let's get outta here."

"If I'm ever around the _newsboys house_. In the _Lower East Side,_" William added, an edge to his smile. "You fellas have a good night."

Blink made a noise like he was going to say something, but Jack growled, grabbing Mush's arm and hauling him forward.

"Leave it," he told Blink, as a few of William's boys hooted with laughter. "Blink, we gotta go catch our train. Come on, let's go."

Mush stumbled along beside them, round the corner, down the street, blind to the outside world. While Blink scooped his cigarette up from the ground and jammed it back between his lips, and Jack ground his teeth together and scanned the empty streets for more trouble, Mush was wildly, frighteningly terrified, watching William's face swim into view in his mind, shining and malicious. Vindictive.

"Who the hell was that?" Blink asked, still foul tempered. Mush shook his head.

_If I'm ever around the newsboys house. In the Lower East Side._

Mush wrested his arm out of Jack's grip, fell to his knees by the gutter, and was violently sick.

-

"_I ain't comin' back tomorrow," Beats whispered to Johnny. His friend shifted, the spare, hard bones of him digging into his back. "Johnny, you gotta be okay without me."_

"_When are you comin' back?"_

"_Never."_

_Johnny fell silent. Beats curled into him harder, trying not to think about the next day, where he would sleep, how he would eat. He and Johnny always looked out for one another. Now he would truly be on his own._

"_I'm comin' with you."_

"_No," Beats said fiercely. "I gotta go on my own."_

"_You'll get hurt."_

"_We can't do this always," Beats said into the back of Johnny's neck. "It ain't right and I ain't like this. I'm changin'."_

_Johnny said nothing. Beats bit back the sounds he longed to make, the words he longed to speak. Johnny was still as a corpse._

"_Don't ask after me," he said roughly. "I ain't gonna be known as Beats no more."_

_-_


	9. eight

**It Just Won't Quit**

**Chapter Eight**

Mush woke to a crack of pain spreading across his head like lightening.

He groaned, reaching up and pressing his palms hard against his eyelids. For a moment the pain became all he could concentrate on, throbbing sickly in his temples, his shoulders, the back of his throat. It felt as though Kloppman had been beating him about the head for hours. Had he? What time was it? Had he slept in? Dimly he became aware of the boundaries of his body – the soreness in his legs, his one foot still tangled in the leg of half-removed pants, his one shoe still on one sore, throbbing foot.

His stomach swung violently. He groaned again and opened his eyes, wincing at the light that poured in. He knew the feeling, even from when he had been a kid. Kicking off his shoe and the one pant leg, he swung himself down from his top bunk and, not even sparing a glance at Blink's, staggered towards the washroom. Once he reached a stall he pushed the door open dizzily, quickly locked it behind him, and fell to his knees.

When it was over, he spat and wiped his mouth, wishing he could push the pain that pounded behind his eyes away. The night was coming back to him slowly but steadily, in telling glimpses and stomach-wrenching images. Elois, yes, and the feeling of her warm mouth against his own, but also Blink's angry face. Also William. At the memory of him Mush leaned forwards, certain he was going to be sick again, but after a moment the wave of nausea passed and he slumped down onto the floor, cradling his head in his hands, feeling his stomach clench and unclench dryly in his body.

William knew. That much had been for certain – Mush would never forget the way his face looked when he repeated what he had heard Jack say. He could come for him any moment. He could be coming for him this morning. Mush's legs felt as though the bones were suddenly gone, as though they could never be counted upon to support him. How was he supposed to go out there?

He wiped his mouth again and wondered if he could even count on Blink to help him out in a fight. His friend hadn't spoken to him the entire train ride back, hadn't even said goodnight as they had stumbled into the bunk room, sleep already consuming them. He groaned again, massaging his temples. He could hear footsteps down stairs, and knew Kloppman was readying the desk, putting the day's business in order. It could be he only had a few minutes before the old man was coming up the stairs and – his head pounded at the thought – yelling loud enough to wake the dead.

Mush staggered to his feet, the pain intensifying in his head, pulled the chain that drained the toilet, and unlocked the door. He pushed it open, took two steps out into the washroom, and stopped.

Blink was standing there. Leaning up against the sink, one shoed toe digging at the dirty floor, eyes deliberately pointed down.

"Blink!" Mush said, pressing one hand to his stomach. "You scared me." Blink didn't say anything, but did not look up either, mulishly twisting and turning his boot along the floor. Mush took in the pallor of his friend's face, the tightness of his eyes that suggested a head ache just as bad as his own. But if that were true, Blink wasn't saying anything. "You alright, Blink?" Blink shrugged, arms crossing in front of him. Mush waited a moment, feeling more and more exasperated. "Good mornin' to you too, I guess."

For the first time his friend looked at him. He was not wearing the eye patch yet; he usually put it on first thing. The blue of his eyes was intense.

"Don't look so good for you," he replied, glancing pointedly at Mush's hand over his stomach.

"Well…" Mush's head pounded, and he winced. "Drank a lot last night, didn't we?"

Blink just glowered, returning his gaze to the floor. Mush felt at a loss for words, and let the door of the bathroom swing shut behind him. It closed with a loud clang that echoed through the room.

"You still mad at me or somethin'?" Mush asked in a low voice, hurt. Blink rolled his eyes, kicking hard at the floor.

"I'm not _mad_ at you Mush. Christ, what am I, your mother?"

"Well…" Mush shifted from one foot to the other. "You're actin' weird."

"_You're_ actin' weird," Blink spat. "You was like a different person last night."

"I…" Mush felt a tremor of fear run through him. Did Blink know? Could he possibly have let it slip? Desperately he tried to recall any conversation they had had, but nothing came. Nothing but the image of Blink's face, yelling. "I didn't mean nothin' by it, Blink," he said, hearing the edge in his voice.

Blink looked up, brows furrowed, voice harsh with bite. "Yeah? You said you didn't want no girl, Mush. That's what you said to me up on the roof...you know, that time. Now, what, all of a sudden you're some kinda skirt chaser?"

"I…what?" Mush cut him off, brows wrinkling.

"You don't remember shit, do you?" Blink sneered. "I mean, that's _low_."

"Blink," Mush pressed a hand to his forehead. "I…I remember, I just…you talking about Elois?" Blink regarded him coolly, before turning away, eyes rolling.

"Forget about it,"

"You're mad about _that_?" Mush winced. "Blink, you…you kiss on girls all the time!"

"This is different!" Blink said, voice rising. "This is a completely different type a' thing!"

"Is not! I never get mad at you for…for that kinda stuff."

"No, but you're always mopin' around like I just hit you about it or something!" Blink said keenly, changing tacks, averting his eyes. "It's weird, Mush. I just…I don't like it."

"Don't like what?"

"I don't know! Dammit. This whole thing."

"Blink…" Mush raised his hands, palms empty. "What whole thing?"

"Just don't talk to me right now!" Blink spat. With that, he pushed himself up off the sink and shoved his hands in his pockets, moving towards the door. "Clean yourself up or something," he mumbled over his shoulder. "You fuckin' stink."

Mush watched him go. His eyes followed his friend's broad shoulders, his straight back, followed him down to the scuffed heel of his shoe as he disappeared. He waited for a moment, listening to his footsteps cross the bunkroom floor, exit out the doorway, and slowly fade down the stairs leading to the lobby.

Mush turned and kicked the stall door so hard it slammed into the wall, waking up the boys in the next room, and sending a shooting pain through his foot that was nowhere near the ache of numbness up and down his body.

-

It proved to be the last time they spoke for days.

Mush had known varying sorts of agony through Blink; from the pleasant twinge of it at the accidental knock of a hand, through to the gut wrenching fullness of knowing that, most nights, he was away, across the city, romancing some girl. But the hollowness of this surprised him, he came to know a new sort of pain that wallowed steadily, like a tooth ache, or nausea, intensifying every time he passed Blink in the hallway and his friend did not even look at him. The first few times he had tried saying his name, touching at his shoulder, trying to make himself visible, but Blink always shook him off with a grimace and kept on his way. After the third time he stopped trying.

He took to hanging around Racetrack, grateful for the boy's incessant jokes and schemes, happy for the card games he always introduced to try and raise some extra money. Mush liked the cards, the way they were wholly logical and indisputable, and always came to the same end.

"Jeez, Mush," Racetrack would say, chuckling as he pulled a freshly won pile of coins towards him. "It's almost criminal what I'm doin' here. You _wanna_ lose or somethin'?"

"No," Mush would say, with every semblance of a smile. "You're just good, Race."

"You're tellin' _me_," Racetrack grinned. "A few more games and I got enough to pay those Devlin bastards back three times over, whaddaya say?"

"You still haven't paid them back yet?" Mush asked, eyebrows raising. Racetrack just chuckled, somewhat troubled, and had he been a different boy Mush may have pushed further. But all he could think about was sitting up on the roof top with Blink, a bruise darkening his friends eye as he told Mush he was scared.

Racetrack dealt the cards again and Mush obliged.

Whenever he went out selling, however, he tagged along with Jack as much as he could. He hadn't forgotten William's threat – it haunted him every night, making every morning a hollow, exhausted blur - he didn't want to be caught alone on some street corner with an arm full of papers, a full purse, and no friends. Jack seemed to tolerate it, and even began mining Mush for information on how best to sell, on how to catch the right customers, on what exact mingling of grief and terror in a headline would gain the most attention. Mush gave him the information dully, without interest, watching as Jack's capable mind began building off of those basics. What he did not appreciate, however, was when Jack applied that capable mind to him.

"So you aint' speakin' to Blink no more or what?" Jack asked, as they set off along Delancey Street, arms full of the day's wares. While Mush still carried them tight along his side, Jack swung them up onto his shoulder, where they rested as though on a shelf. Mush didn't see the practicalities of this, and noticed that Jack tended to revert to it whenever there were pretty girls near by.

"We're speakin'," Mush lied automatically, the cold air whistling down the street and biting at his mouth. He licked his dry lips and instinctively huddled into himself, squinting.

"Mmm," Jack said, and Mush could tell he didn't believe him for a minute. They walked in silence. Mush chanced a glimpse at Jack's steady profile. Even in the winter, when the bodies of the newsboys swelled with clothes and no one missed the opportunity to wrap something warm around their necks or heads, he still had the cowboy hat hanging off his back. It looked laughable with his thick jacket and frost bitten hands. There was a moment when Mush longed to tell him everything, to ask _why_ Blink was ignoring him, _why_ a kiss with a girl was so bad, _why _Blink suddenly saw the need to shun him so completely when he had a far worse record with women. But he kept his jaw clenched. Mild as Jack's eyes were, he was clever. Mush didn't want to reveal even a hint about his inner self. He licked his lips.

"Where'd you get that hat?"

"This?" Jack asked, with practiced casualness, shrugging up his shoulders. "A nickel and dime store in Brooklyn."

"Really?" Mush asked, eyeing it. "I thought you got it out West."

Jack laughed, almost bittersweet. "Naw, but some day I'll get a real one. This one here's just a…a whaddaya call it…a stand-in."

They walked, frost crackling under their thin boots. The street was nearly deserted and it made Mush nervous, but at the corner where they usually sold he could see a few more people moving, their small figures hunched against the icy wind.

"So who was that guy?" Jack asked after a moment, shifting the papers slightly on his shoulder and breathing out vapor.

"What guy?" Mush asked, apprehension seizing at his stomach.

"You know, that guy outside of Mac's. Who was he?"

Mush breathed out hard through his nose, suddenly fearful, as though William might appear, the same smile, the same cruel eyes.

"I don't know," he said, his voice sounding a little higher than usual. He cleared his throat hastily. "He…uh, he really must a' been lookin' for someone else."

"Yeah?"

"I don't know him."

Jack turned and studied him, and Mush looked pointedly ahead. Jack knew he was lying. But he had the grace not to press the matter.

"So whaddaya think today?" He asked, shifting his papers again.

"I dunno. Freak snowstorm comin' in from up north?"

"How about freak snowstorm 'at's already killed four in…uh, whaddaya say Newfoundland?"

"Where?"

"I don't know, somewhere up there."

"Deal."

They walked forwards, into the intersection. Mush opened his mouth to yell.

-

That night Mush and Race sat themselves down on the lodging house stairwell, Mush leaning up against the uncomfortable spines of the railing. Race was already pulling the pack of cards from his breast pocket, smiling in anticipation of the winnings that Mush couldn't muster up the motivation to try and hold on to, and Jack stood a few feet away, toying with a pack of cigarettes, openly and malignantly eyeing the placard above Kloppman's desk that forbade fire.

"Just go outside if it's so bad," Racetrack finally groaned after Jack grumbled through their first round, remedying his own cravings by chewing on an unlit cigar.

"It's freezin' out there," Jack replied, shooting a glare at both of them. "You think I'm crazy?"

"It ain't half as crazy as starin' at that sign waitin' for it to change."

"That's right," Kloppman leaned over the counter, fixing Jack with a knowing look. "You shoulda seen what I did to this one when he lit that foul thing up in here. Ain't that right, Race?"

"That's right, sir," Racetrack rolled his eyes, giving a saccharine grin. "Hey, old man, you wanna spot me a quarter? Guaranteed return."

"Racetrack, I'd rather go dig up my mother's grave than spot you another quarter."

Jack and Mush laughed, and Racetrack rose up on his knees slightly, eyebrows high and pleading. "No muckin' around this time, Kloppman, dead honest! I've been takin' this chump's money for a week now!"

"That ain't nice," Mush grinned.

"Truth ain't nice," Raetrack shot back, reaching over and ruffling his hair. Mush ducked, throwing down his cards, and was about to reach out to knock Racetrack's cap off when he heard Blink's laughter from upstairs, and settled back onto his haunches, feeling gloomy.

"A'right, a'right," Jack was saying wearily, leaning forwards. "How about if I light it outside but I come in here to smoke it?"

"No can do, Jacky boy."

"Yeah, alright, what if I do it by a window."

"What did I just tell you, boy? No. Can. Do."

"It ain't any skin offa your ass, Kloppman."

"You swear any more in here, and you're out."

"What?" Jack grinned as Racetrack howled. "Ass ain't swearin'!"

"Don't test me, Jack, I…oh. Can I help you?"

Mush glanced over his shoulder. He had missed the sound of the door under Jack's protests, and was only half interested in who the visitor might be, but what he saw made his blood run cold.

William was standing at the desk, looking over at Mush and grinning.

Mush stumbled to his feet, turning, feeling as though his bones weren't properly working. Jack was immediately off the wall, standing straight, cigarettes stowed in his back pocket. Racetrack put his cards down, glancing up at the two of them, before returning his hooded eyes to William. Mush's heart, speeding, leapt to the root of his tongue and waited there.

"Just lookin' for a kid called Mush," William said, eyes never leaving Mush's face, smile never breaking. "He still live here?"

"Mush…" Kloppman sighed and went to the ledger, flipping pages, not even looking up at his charges. "Unusual name, surely not his birth name?"

"Naw, just a dumb nick name," William replied, tilting his head slightly. Mush felt his heart racing. Seeing him in the lobby, among the broken furniture and outdated wallpaper that had characterized his time here made him feel as though time itself was rupturing, and he was a kid again, covered in bruises, sleeping on street corners. Behind him, he could hear Jack cracking his knuckles.

"Can't help you," Kloppman said firmly, his voice edged. Mush heard the soft, ancient sounding thump of the ledger falling shut.

"You don't know who that might be?" William asked scornfully, one eyebrow raising.

"What the boys say amongst themselves is none of my concern," Kloppman replied, voice keying up a notch. "Now unless there's anything else you need, I suggest you get back to where you came from. I have a phone in the back room that's got the police department's number."

"Alright, alright," William raised his hands, flashing Kloppman the most charming grin that Mush had ever seen. "No need for that, terrible sorry if I gave the wrong impression. Don't suppose I could have a look for myself if he's around?"

"No one goes up those stairs unless they've paid a fee for the night," Kloppman said firmly, chin jutting. "And we're full for the rest of the week."

Deep in his stomach Mush felt a pang of gratitude for the old man, and worked to keep his breathing steady. He knew what he must look like – more of a mouse than a man, petrified, waiting on the steps with two scrappy news boys behind him. William knew as well. He turned and flashed the same charming grin towards Mush.

"That's fine," he said. "Just fine. Just ah…let him know that if he needs to speak to me, I'll be waiting outside." A pause. "I'll be there for a bit."

With that he turned on his heel and was gone.

Everything around Mush seemed to melt. Jack snorted and leaned back against the wall while Racetrack whistled, dashing a hand through his curls and raising his eyebrows.

"Didja see the shoulders on that guy?" He said in appreciation.

"Race," Jack cut him off, shaking his head.

"Mush!" Kloppman said, leaning over the counter and fixing him with a stern glare. "Who in the blazes was that?"

"It's…" Mush couldn't speak, his tongue felt as though it was made of lead. With difficulty, he swallowed. "I don't know."

"Well you better hope he isn't coming in here again!" Kloppman said, lips curling up in disapproval. "Didn't like the looks of him one bit. Looked like some sort of thug to me! The things I do for you boys, risking my own neck…"

"Thanks, Kloppman." Mush said quietly. Feeling his knees begin to thaw, he slowly sat again, eyes darting towards the door. He couldn't see William outside, but that didn't mean he wasn't there, leaning against the side of the building, waiting. Kloppman murmured a few more oaths before grabbing his accounting book and flipping it open, finding the date with his gnarled finger.

"Shit, Mush," Jack said quietly, eyes trained on the windows. "You don't know him, huh?"

"I…" Mush couldn't finish. Upstairs the voices still continued on, laughing and shouting, caught up in games and fights and bets. No one up there knew what had happened, Mush thought. Not even Blink.

-

"_Come on," William whispered, lips up against his ear. Mush felt the press of a body against his spine, conforming to the curve; felt his own face pressed roughly against the brick, and flexed his fingers, testing. But his name wasn't Mush. What was it?_

"_I don't think so," Beats said, and William breathed out hard through his nose, it wouldn't be long now, the blows to his knees, his ribs._

"_You don't think so?" William's voice was like a knife. "You're the pansy here, Beats. What don't you think?"_

"_I'm not," Beats said, and William's breath echoed in his ear, drowning his thoughts. "You…you're the one who…"_

"_The one who what?" His face, pressing harder, squeezing like a fruit. "Answer me, queer, the one who _what_?"_

_But Beats was no longer paying attention. A scrap of paper near his foot stood out, he slipped easily from William's arms and grabbed at it. Newspaper, days old, the ink smudged and unreadable, but the headline still clear as a bell. _Beggar Child found Mutliated in Soho Victim of Devlin Gang. _Beats looked around, but William was gone, and Johnny was gone, and the whole alley was staring to go, pulling down, draining, and Beats was going with it, sucking down and down…_

Mush's eyes opened.

The yell that he strangled in his throat felt like it was stuck there, cutting off his air. He took a few deep breaths, feeling the sensation sweep from the top of his head to the soles of his feet, feeling his hands tingling back to life. He rolled over, reached underneath his pillow, and groped for the piece of paper that he had found that night at Mac's, the one that the bottle had come wrapped in, the one that he had picked up from the floor while Blink dragged him up the stairs, furious. It was still there.

He rolled over, burying his face in the pillow and catching up his sheets in tight fists, trying to ease the panic constricting his throat. It was only when he was finally able to ease his mind from racing in loops that he noticed the irregular breathing coming from Blink's bunk, the weird gulps and hitches that sounded like choking. Or crying.

-

William never came into the lodging house again, but Mush knew he was waiting outside. He saw him in the morning, leaning up against the opposite building with his hat pulled down low over his face, a few of his thugs behind him, watching Mush hurriedly fall into step with Jack with those blue, wicked eyes. He saw him also in the evening, drawing back the shabby curtains of the upstairs windows and counting the figures who returned, night after night, to keep vigil.

"You gotta do somethin' about it, Mush," Jack said to him as they were selling with Race, shivering against the cold, smacking at their arms to keep warm. "I mean, I ain't gonna back down in a fight on you or anythin', but with the friends he's got, that's four against two. Won't be pretty."

"You don't have to fight for me," Mush mumbled, embarrassed, as Racetrack shot them both a furtive look.

"I ain't gonna stand back and watch you get mauled," Jack said quickly. "I just…y'know, it's a problem you gotta deal with."

"Yeah," Mush said, flexing his stiff fingers in the cold. Racetrack sighed and hoisted his papers up higher onto his shoulder, like Jack was doing.

"What about Blink?" Jack said after a moment, pocketing the returns that a warm smile to a younger woman had earned him. "You think he's gonna back you up?"

"Jack," Racetrack cut him off, shaking his head warningly, but Mush had already sighed, face closing up tight as a fist. They sold the rest of the papers in silence.

It was the middle of November when Racetrack began looking at the sky and taking bets on the first snowfall. Mush made one half heartedly to keep the boy from pestering him, but couldn't care less. He was spending more and more time in the lodging house, up in his bunk, staring sleeplessly at the ceiling and avoiding William, despite Jack's protests.

"If it ain't you it's gonna be one of us," he would warn him, hanging off the side of his bunk with raised eyebrows. "'Member Race and the Devlin gang and Blink?"

"I do, thanks," Mush would spit back, rolling over. "Just leave me alone."

"Fine, if you're gonna sulk about it…"

Mush couldn't tell him that half the reason he was hurting was because of how Blink used to hang off his bunk in the same way, blue eyes appearing over the sideboards, grinning at him each morning. Blink, who was still maintaining a steady system of silence, ignoring Mush when they passed in the halls, staring down at his boots when they were in line for newspapers, or discreetly folding whenever Mush joined the same game of cards. No one in the lodging house noticed – everyone knew Blink's fickle nature and had seen this sort of thing before; only he and Mush knew the reason.

For the first time in a long time, Mush began to think about leaving.

It wouldn't be too hard to do. The lodging house ledger wasn't a contract, and he'd just have to leave in the morning with Jack, double back when he was certain William and his thugs had left for the day, pack up his things, tell Kloppman he was leaving, and get off to a good start before William caught on. Or anyone else. He shifted uncomfortably in his bed, thinking of the life he led before; the streets hard as bone, the furtively snatched food, the people he encountered. The warmth of the lodging house, even in the face of December's oncoming, felt like paradise in comparison, until he thought of William waiting outside, of Jack's dire warning, and of Blink, averting his eyes and systematically ignoring him. He sighed. Blink was the reason he had come here in the first place, maybe it made sense that he'd be the reason he'd leave.

Although this time, there'd be no body to curl up next to, no one to share a stolen bottle with, no one to redress the wounds.

Furtively, he reached up and touched the paper underneath his pillow again. There was no way of being certain if it was Johnny, but Mush found that he knew all the same.

-


End file.
